The Lies We Tell Ourselves
by shannygoat
Summary: Cowritten with deConstruction. Two lost souls searching for something. One man takes what he wants, the other is afraid to find what he needs. Two seperate journeys will find them both looking for the same thing. Orton Batista. !SLASH Warning! R
1. Chapter 1

Title: The Lies We Tell Ourselves

Rating: NC-17 for language, strong sexual content, slash

Genre: Slash, Drama, Angst

Disclaimer: We do not know, own or endorse any of the characters except any orginal characters that may come about in this work of fiction; the rest of the characters belong to WWE respectively. These characters are loosely based off of their TV personas. Thank you for not suing.

A/N: This is story is co-written with probably the best author of slash I have ever read, Reinvention. Our love of slash and WWE as brought us together to write one of the most poetic slash fics ever created. Between Reinvention's ability to tell a story and create imagery and my flair for porn and smut...this slash is going to be off the hook! Make sure you stop by his page and tell him how amazing he is!

Thank you for taking the time to check us out and we hope you enjoy! R&R

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**The Lies We Tell Ourselves**

Invasive streaks of sunlight cut through the gaps in the cream colored blinds. The early morning rays of brilliant sunshine filtered harshly into the darkened hotel room, bringing the unflinching morning into focus. Pools of light centered around the room, as though spotlights rained down from hidden lights above.

A particularly warm beam of light centered on the large bed, burning directly into the face of Randy Orton. Whether the St. Louis native wanted it or not, it was acting as a definite wake up call. The warm sunshine had not gone unnoticed by the 'Legend Killer', slowly stirring him into a groggy morning haze. Both of his soft lips pursed at the rude wake-up call. It was not at all welcome. In a limbo between sleeping-and-waking, Randy couldn't be sure if he was still asleep, or once again awake. The answer came however, as the previous nights events began to filter softly into his memory with the speed and grace of a coffee percolator.

Bits and pieces of fleeting moments, and smoky half-felt feelings made a collage of sight and sound in his head. Groaning softly as flashes of last night came back to him, Randy realized the light was a certain sign that it was time to wake up.

Stirring slowly, his crystal blue eyes sparkled to life from behind a set of now opening eyelids. The dark lashes which had been resting on the pillows of his cheeks now framed each brilliant blue eye, as the orbs moved in gentle sweeping movements. Orton's eyes carefully moved around the room, the familiar features of the hotel and its contents falling into place before him. Just like his memory dictated last night, at the foot of the bed rested a wooden chest. Sprawled across the top was an assortment of clothes ranging from a shirt to a single shoe. Tilting his head softly, Randy realized with a rueful smirk that those grants weren't all his. A flash of his night in the club just a few hours ago captured Randy's attention briefly. The smoke machine sending billowing clouds across the dance floor broken by pulsating lights consumed him for the briefest of moments. The thought passed, and the morning fell back into the forefront of his attention.

Moving his head in line with his eyes, Randy's gaze fell upon the wooden chest-of-drawers opposite the bed. Another memory was conjured, this time of the activities after the club.

Randy could almost feel the taut body pressed against his. The curve of his lovers' bare, pert behind grinding against his naked crotch. The cheeks slapping against his muscular thighs in a rhythm of utter rapture. The exquisite memory of his engorged manhood spearing deep inside his partner caused Randy to sigh. The memory of his lover's body arching gracefully as it was forced to bend over the chest-of-drawers was about as much as he dared remember without causing a rush of blood to run altogether further south.

Still, Randy couldn't help but almost hear the sultry whisper of his name being said in the dark. That husky tone begging him to go harder, to push even deeper than he was. Licking his lips at the memory, the taste of a sweat and sex filled air was all Randy could feel.

Lost in his revelry no more, Orton mentally convinced himself to sit up. With a stifled yawn, his body sat bolt upright in one languid motion. The tattoo marking that inked the back of his neck and shoulders rippled as his body contorted, both arms stretching for the plaster finished ceiling above. The taut muscles of his back shifted as his fingers strained to reach even further toward the sky. With a gentle grunt, Randy lowered his arms back down to their regular position. Carefully, he began rolling his surgically repaired shoulder, rolling the socket to regain some feeling. As was customary every morning; a dull ache throbbed gently within the flesh, causing his scar to feel like it was being pressed into his flesh by the tip of a burning knife.

As the pain began to dissipate, Randy realized the brief stretching had caused the pearl-white satin sheet to fall from his body. The gentle wave of material had caressed its way down his bare torso, puddling around his muscled thighs. Looking down in what was a self-imposed awe, Randy's finger carefully traced the deep red blemished on his inner thighs. Left over from the night before, he smirked as the finger-nail marks were a shade of crimson against his other wise tan hips. Apparently, the night had been a little rougher than he had originally remembered.

Rubbing the flats of his palms over his face, Randy sighed. On the bedside table, a radio blinked in a crimson light, finally catching the young Legend Killer's eye. The numbers five-fifty-nine burned from the LCD display, flashing to life before Randy's gaze. It was a definite sign that it truly was time to get moving and to get up.

With as much care as he was capable of, Randy carefully slid across the bed, hopefully without disturbing the slumbered form in the bed next to him. Pulling the sheet free of his legs, he carefully laid it down on the bed. A human shaped lump stirred slightly, but did not seem to awaken. A mop of blonde hair was partially visible from beneath the covers. The face however, was still obscured. Tip-toeing across the room, Randy's eyes began searching from his clothes.

Thrown against the cupboard in the corner, Randy recognized his black Armani pants. Scooping them over one arm, he moved over to where one of his inordinately Gucci shoes was partially hiding beneath the bed. Not far from it, rested Randy's pale blue shirt. Grabbing it, it revealed the other missing shoe, as well as his socks. Smiling in his achievement, he snatched up the remaining items, adding them to the bundle in his arms.

Furrowing his brow, he realized something was missing. His underwear. Carefully placing the pile of clothes on the edge of the bed, Randy knelt on the ground. Shifting various other clothes, it seemed the underwear was determined to elude him.

Once again standing to his full height, Randy clucked his tongue as his hands rested neatly on his hips. A small ball of black material caught Randy's attention. The ball of black material was screwed into a tight orb, and rested against the wooden bed post. Bending down, Randy lifted it free, flatting the material as he did so.

The feeling a warm finger sliding its way from his lower back down into the cleft between his chiseled ass caused Randy to stand up straight. Sending a withering glance over his shoulder, Randy's blue eyes sparkled in amusement as the blonde head which had been hidden beneath the covers finally revealed the face that went with it.

Titling his own head, Randy realized that the other man could have been no older than his early twenties. Twenty-five at the absolute maximum. He had a wave of bright blonde hair that fell down in disheveled waves to graze his cheekbones. A pair of ocean green eyes glittered hazily from beneath his blonde brows, which were arched in interest. The man's plump pink lips were swollen - most likely from kissing, Randy reasoned. Amongst other things.

Innocently, his tongue slowly slid out from between the lips, running its way over the plump bottom lip. Curving into a smile, he seemed oblivious to the erotic effect it had on Randy. No stranger to flirting, Orton's face remained expressionless.

His lover groaned slightly as he stretched. Resting back on his elbows, he sat up slightly. The bed sheet fell down over his smooth chest, revealing an athletic torso. He was toned, with a little muscle definition across his chest. Perfect. Musing to himself, Randy hid the smile that touched his lips by turning around. Unscrewing the underwear, he sighed as he realized that these boxer shorts were definitely not his. Pursing his lips, Randy tossed them to the ground, as the man on the bed gently wrapped his arms around his bare body. The pads of his fingers felt their way down over Randy's chest, tracing the valley of his chest.

"Hey baby," he purred, lips dangerously close to Orton's ear. "Last night was mind-blowing." Taking the wrestlers ear lobe between his teeth, the blonde nibbled gently as his hands caressed down over Randy's stomach and lower again. "You were mind-blowing. No-one has ever made my body react the way it did last night. Nobody but you."

Smiling politely, even though the blonde couldn't see it, Randy said nothing. "Actually," the blonde continued. "I haven't really been with anyone other than you. Last night, that was my first time."

_Oh shit._ Randy's body immediately tensed as his worst nightmare seemed to manifest itself at once. The blonde didn't seem to notice as his lips carefully tasted Randy's exposed neck.

_Get out. Get out now you idiot._ Carefully untangling himself from the other man's arms, Randy took a measured step across the room. In reality, he wanted to run from the room screaming, but that couldn't happened when his RKO was hanging loose. Grabbing his pants, Randy still said nothing.

Undeterred, the blonde crawled across the bed, grabbing Randy's shirt. As the Legend Killer fasted the button his pants, the man on the bed slid himself into Randy's shirt. With a more lithe physique, he was somewhat drowned in blue material. Turning to see him in his shirt, Randy rolled his eyes. Extending his hand, he waited for his shirt to be given to him. The blonde playfully scooted backwards across the bed, motioning for Randy to come and get it.

Huffing out his breath, Randy took a step closer to the blonde. The other man took his chance. Leaning forward, the blonde seized Randy's hand in his own. Not given time to react, Randy felt himself pulled forward. Losing his balance, he toppled down onto the bed. Losing no time, his lover immediately straddled him, resting his hands on either side of Randy's shoulders.

With the other man on top of him, Randy felt his lips being crushed in a blistering kiss as the blonde leaned forward, pushing his lips on Randy. Rolling his eyes again, he returned the kiss. Resting his large hand on the back of the blonde's neck, he deepened the kiss, teasing the inside of the others mouth with carefully probes of his tongue. It was a dirty trick, using his experience and considerable pleasure-giving technique to placate the other man. But desperate times called for desperate measures, didn't they?

Before the blonde had realized it, Randy had loosened his shirt and pulled it free off his body. What the blonde had assumed was a warm up for fore-play, was Randy being sexually manipulative. Firmly planting his palm on the blonde's waist, Randy tipped him over to land on the bed. Free to move, Randy sat up off the bed, already sliding his shirt over his shoulders as the blonde moved back to rest on his shoulders.

Covering a look of hurt and confusion, he immediately up. Suddenly self conscious of his naked body, he carefully gathered the sheet around him, clasping it tightly over his legs as he watched Randy get completely dressed in under thirty seconds. If he didn't know better, the blonde would swear Randy had done speed-dressing before.

Now fastening his shoes, Randy stopped as he heard his name come out as an uncertain question. "Randy?"

"Yeah." Turning his head to look over his shoulder, Randy registered the confused look on the face of the blonde. Feeling a twist of emotion in his gut, Randy turned the rest of his body entirely to face the other man. The expression on his face was one of bewilderment, as though he couldn't fathom what Randy was doing. The Legend Killer almost felt guilty. Almost.

"Is everything okay?" The blonde inquired. Randy simply nodded his head once in response. Desperate not to say anymore, Randy hoped that would be the end of it. It seemed not. "Are you sure? Because, you don't seem okay…"

His voice trailed off at the expression clouding Randy's face. With his eyebrow arched, Orton regarded the blonde like he needed to be committed for what he had said. "How do I seem?"

"Like," clearly struggling for words, the blonde was crestfallen. If Randy's silence wasn't enough, being forced to explain his concern just made the whole situation worse. "Like…like you can't wait to leave."

Randy shrugged his shoulders. "You sound surprised." The statement cut deeper than any object ever could. It was the cold matter-of-fact delivery that did it, as thought the blonde were foolish for suggesting that Randy should be doing or reacting in a different way. Gulping down air, the blonde cast his eyes down to focus on his lap.

"Oh." Came the quiet reply. Sighing with an obviously disappointed tone, Randy stepped to his left, reaching to grab his watch from where is lay on the bedside table. Snatching his wallet in the same way, Randy noted that the display on his cell phone registered at least seven missed calls. Crossing the room towards the door, he winced as the blonde spoke again, stopping Randy in his tracks. "Don't you want to talk at all? I mean, about last night? At the club, it seemed like…"

"Like what?" Randy testily replied, whirling to face the blonde. He had shifted position on the bed, looking longingly at Randy. His inexperience might seem endearing to some, to Randy, it was just pissing him off. It was like being confronted with a stupid puppy that just would not leave you alone. At least with animals, you can put them down. _Is there a cure for clingy blondes?_

"I just thought…that maybe you liked me." Avoiding Randy's gaze, he was met with yet another impatient sigh. His shoulders sagged in defeat, now realizing he had completely misread Randy's intentions.

"Listen…uh…um…" Randy stopped, his brow furrowing as he tried to recall the blonde's name. _What was it? Tom? No. Tony? No, that's not it either. Tim? Tyler? Toby? I'm sure it begins with a 'tee_'.

"Jerome." The blonde offered sadly. "My name is Jerome."

"Jerome, right…I knew that." Randy nodded briefly. "Listen Jerome, I don't know what you thought this was man, but I ain't up for talking and shit. Last night was a good time. I wanted you, you wanted me. We had sex. That's all it was. Just leave it at that, man. Don't try and make it something it wasn't, okay? Trust me, it'll be easier for you."

"Don't you like me? Not even a little bit?" Jerome's green eyes blinked, bursting with hope that this blasé response wasn't what Randy really meant.

"Last night I did, sure." Randy nodded, not really processing what the pained expression on Jerome's face meant. Glancing around the room, Randy felt uncomfortable simply standing in silence. He came. He saw. He fucked. Why was there always the morning after bullshit to deal with? Making a show of checking his watch, Randy glanced back up at the deflated blonde. "Hey Jerome, I have to go."

"Wait," Jerome cried, getting off the bed. Simply standing at the edge of the bed, holding the sheet around his waist, his eyes searched Randy's for some glimmer of hope. "Will I see you again? Can I?"

Randy nodded. "Sure you can." Jerome's face lit up in a huge smile, as he took a step closer to Randy. He stopped just as quickly however, as Randy reached down and gripped the door handle. "Every Monday. Nine PM. USA network. Take it easy man."

With a smirk, Randy pulled the door open. Stepping through the gap, he didn't glance back once as he pulled it to a close behind him. Jerome stood still in the room, without moving. His bottom lip quivered gently, as he tried to figure out what had just happened.

Walking slowly back across the room, Jerome reluctantly sat himself down on the bed. After what seemed like an eternity of still silence, Jerome sniffed. Reaching below one of the pillows, he pulled out a pair of black briefs, the ones which Randy had been searching for minutes earlier. Regarding them sadly, Jerome let them slip from his hand to floor beside the bed.

Just easily, his head fell into his hands, covering the gentle sob that echoed from his mouth.


	2. Chapter 2

The Lies We Tell Ourselves

The sandpaper colored walls threatened to turn a brighter hue as the sun playfully poked its rays through the cracked blinds. Tiny glimmers of sunlight spilled from the windowsill, onto the floor and quietly made their way to the bed in the center of the room. In less than fifteen minutes, one half of the room would be completely covered by the uninvited light. In less than fifteen minutes, the symbol that a new day was actually starting would become an unmistakable reality. In less than fifteen minutes, the lies would start again.

The large king sized bed, rested untouched in the center of the room. The creamy down comforter was still perfectly folded at the foot of the bed and the Egyptian cotton sheets still showed off their perfect hospital corners. The pillows, eight of them, where neatly stacked in two piles on both sides, just begging for a tired soul to rest their weary head upon them.

The room itself was relatively quiet, save for the gentle hum of the ceiling fan from above. As the wooden blades spun round and round, the golden chain dangling from the center rocked back and forth slowly. It was hypnotizing. The ceiling fan alone was like a Syringe's lure, beckoning any and all that stepped into the room to watch it, feel their eyelids grow heavy and take relaxation in the bed below. That was the room's selling point; that is how it always got them. No one could resist the tranquility of the room. No one that is, except him.

Dave Batista sat quietly in the darkened corner of the room, watching the sun slowly creep across half of the bed. At that very point in time, his baby brown eyes watched as nature divided the room into halves. Half was light, illuminated by the sun. That half was the good, showing it was truly touched by divinity. It was warm and inviting. It made everyone want to be where it landed. The other half of the room was cloaked in darkness. Dark was where evil happened, where souls were corrupted and torments grew. Darkness was good for hiding and dying. Darkness is where Dave Batista found himself sitting.

The gentle flicker from the muted television did little to brighten the dark half of the room. The gentle color wheel of red, green and blue danced softly off of the shadowed wall and bounced toward the oversized cushioned chair in the corner. His eyes were in a straight line with the images on the screen, yet his brain could not process anything he was seeing. Absently, the gentle brown orbs moved as flashes of colored pixels gather together at precise points to create moving pictures. Only the occasional blink disrupted the view and forced the eyes to refocus within milliseconds.

Breathing evenly, he also hadn't noticed that his hand played with the Buddhist beads adorning his right wrist. His large manicured hand gently rolled each bead separately, starting at the tip of the pads of his fingers and descending down to the first joint. Each bead relaxed the tension in his hand that would otherwise be clinched into a fist.

Without fail the gentle vibrating from the table next to the bed forced Dave to close his eyes and breathe deeply. Taking an audible gasp from his mouth and exhaling it through his nose, Dave felt his lungs cleanse and the uneasiness of his stomach started to dissipate. He slowly let his eyes drag over to the table and watched as the cellular phone moved merrily around with each buzz of the ringer. The blue LCD screen brought more light to the dark side of the room. Light that he was not yet ready to deal with.

His bare feet dug into the plush carpet as he stood. A man of statuesque proportions in height, build and sexual prowess, should never be this afraid of a ringing telephone. His body was sculpted to perfection. Each muscle and striation from his neck down to his feet, showed years of patience and hard work. His stature and demeanor put fear in the hearts of men and small children, while his gentle brown eyes melted the hearts of women from shore to shore. Dave Batista was a god among men, but he knew what was on the other end of that phone had the power to revert him back into a little boy by just saying hello.

Feeling the cool air from the ceiling fan circulating on his bare skin, Dave shuttered from the chill. Whether it was the chill of the room or the dread of answering the phone, he still did not know. Stuffing his hand into the pocket of his blue dress pants, he took the three steps toward the nightstand, paying particular attention to way his unfastened belt jingled with each shift of his weight.

He closed his eyes and swallowed thickly before letting his hand touch the object that he feared. With a sigh and a rapid heartbeat, he did the deed of answering the call. "Hey." His deep baritone vibrated in his throat as he spoke. It use to be so easy to pretend, but he found it getting harder. Hearing the muffled sounds through the receiver he could almost imagine what was going on, on the other end.

A soft giggle danced through the airwaves followed by movement. "Daddy? Mommy said I have to wake you up. Are you up, Daddy?" The impish child, known as Libby sounded so alert this early in the morning.

Taking the death walk back to his darkened corner of the room, Dave nodded his head. "I'm up, Munchkin. Thanks for calling." He could see her sparkling dark eyes and sandy blonde hair bobbing happily as she talked. Her round cherub face was probably broken out into a massive smile at hearing her father's voice. A child of five, Libby was what most would refer to as a daddy's girl. She was the epitome of femininity, just like her mother. She had probably been singing as she skipped through the house, asking her mother several times if it was time to call him yet. The thought made him smile and twisted the knife in his gut that much deeper.

"Good. Nick thought it was his turn, but he called you yesterday. So what'cha doing?" Nick, Dave's oldest was at the tender age of eight. He was becoming a man before his eyes. Looking more like his mother everyday, Dave could see why the girls in his second grade class swooned over the young boy.

"Nothing…just talking to you." Dave closed his eyes and tried to envision the house that he left a week ago. The four bedroom house, sitting on an acre of land, bustled with life. Every room told a story and felt warm and inviting. There was always laughter and the sounds of children playing. His home was like something out of Norman Rockwell painting, it was truly the American dream.

His son's room was decorated in WWII airplanes and a large bomber mobile hung from the ceiling. The book shelf was decorated with dinosaurs and trucks and the blue paint and grey trim gave the room a definite masculine feel. He could vividly remember countless hours of reading Harry Potter to his young son on his very small bed. Not that Dave minded the minor discomfort. Just across the hall, the shrimp pink décor of Libby's humble abode brought forth the feminine charms of a miniature temptress. Her white canopy bed, decorated in a Barbie motif, aligned with stuff animals and baby dolls, reminded Dave of just how much of a little girl she was. The time spent in that room, was where Dave watched countless impromptu ballet recitals and read books about ponies and unicorns.

So different his children were. Different from each other. Different from him.

"I gotta go eat breakfast. My bus will be here soon and I'm taking a doll of you to show and tell. I love you, Daddy." Libby's soft voice filled and broke his heart all in the same instance. Her youthful spirit didn't deserve the heartache that he was destined to inflict upon it.

Feeling the pain in his chest, Dave struggled to find his voice. "I love you, too, Munchkin. Have a good day at school."

"Here's Mommy."

His heart threatened to beat out of his chest. Everyday, he put himself through this torture. He had managed to lie to himself and everyone around him for so long that he actually started to believe. But the time apart, the solitude of traveling and endless nights staying awake, staring blankly at a television, and dreading morning because the phone was going to ring, brought those feeling back to the surface.

"Hey, baby." He had known Lorrie for the better part of fifteen years. They were friends and should have never been more than that. But her ash blonde hair and big green eyes, made it hard not to see the beauty in her. She had the best spirit and was a woman that stuck by him no matter what. But, her soft voice was like a prickly caress to his skin and her feminine wilds threatened to turn his stomach. He had turned his friend into a trophy wife. She was the woman that would have and raise his children and keep him from dealing with his real life.

Just hearing that term of endearment from her lips hurt his soul. She didn't warrant what he was feeling. He loved her, but not the way that a husband should love his wife after ten years of marriage. He loved her as a friend, as a person that he shared his life with. Dave loved Lorrie; he was not in love with her. "Hey to you. How are you feeling?"

"Better. The morning sickness is finally gone. Thank God." She placed her hand on her growing belly and smiled to herself. Having another baby with the man that she loved more than anything was a blessing. Her greatest joy in life was being Dave's wife and the mother to his children. Their family was perfect. _He_ was perfect. The life that she shared with him was her happily ever after. He was all of her fairytale princes rolled up into one man.

One man with a secret.

It was ironic. His name, David Michael, exuded strength. David became a king and the leader of God's followers. He was a small boy whose inner strength helped him battle Goliath. He backed down from nothing and ruled with his heart. Michael was an Archangel. He was the messenger for God himself. His virtue was treasured in all of Heaven while he was revered here on earth. David Michael Batista was named after them both, yet he showed none of the qualities of his name sakes. David Michael Batista was a fraud.

"I'm glad." How did he let it get this far? Two children already and another on the way? Didn't his wife understand that he had to physically psyche himself and prepare days in advance to be with her? Did she know that he felt like he would be sick every time they made love. Why didn't she notice that he always closed his eyes when he was intimate with her? Didn't she ever wonder why he would take such long hot showers afterwards? It wasn't to cleanse his body, but more to cleanse his conscious and his soul. Couldn't she feel him hold back when they kissed?

So many nights in their champagne colored bedroom, he would lie away, absently running his hand over her head as it rested on his chest. He noticed how the closet doors were always closed, just like the closet of his heart. Lorrie took the time to make their room their sanctuary. It was peaceful, right down to non-threating colors. The suede drapes were always pulled three-quarters of the way closed, allowing just enough sun into the room without it being overwhelming. The damn sun again. Dave never feared the sun as much as he did when he was at home, lying in bed with his wife. The sun was going to show her who he really was and he didn't know if he could take that.

"Me too. Look baby, I gotta pack lunches and I've got a conference call in an hour." This was the routine. Everyday, she'd have the children call to wake him, and she would talk to him for a few minutes, listening to the distance in his voice and wonder what was on his mind. "Are you busy tonight? Can you call me when you get settled in…" She checked the refrigerator for his schedule, "Vancouver?"

Dave breathed a sigh of relief. At least he would have hours to prepare for their next conversation. "Sure thing. Have a good day."

"You too. I love you."

Clinching his hand into a fist, Dave fought the rise of bile creeping into his throat. It had to get better. "I love you, too." He closed the phone and let the horrific communication device fall to the plush carpet beneath him. Another conversation was muddled through. Now maybe he could finally get some sleep.

Stripping his pants from his heavily muscled legs, he climbed on top of the bed and watched the blades of the hypnotic ceiling fan turn. As if turning on a counter backward in his mind, all of the images of his life ran in rewind, until his eyes finally closed and could start at the beginning.

He understood at fourteen that something about him was different. He struggled everyday with the feelings he had. His hasty exodus from the sun's rays started all of those years ago. That's when he learned to paint a smile on his face and pretend that everything was fine. He found living for someone else filled the void in his heart that not living for himself had created. It became second nature to pretend and he had done it for so long that he didn't know if he could stop, although he wanted to. Dave learned to be an actor. He deserved awards for how well he played the boy with the perfect family and the perfect life. There was no one he could talk to, not even in his technicolor memory. His existence on the inside was always lonely and quiet. And then he met Lorrie.

Everyone said that they were going to get married and so they did. He fulfilled every request that the world around him mapped out. It wasn't until after the birth of his son that Dave realized he was living a lie. What if one day, that beautiful baby boy started to question who he was? What would he say? Would he tell him to be someone else, just to please the masses? Or would he tell him to be who he was?

There was no way he could answer those questions. Not when he hadn't come to terms with who David Batista was. To the outside world, he was a virile, attractive, happily married, family man. But on the inside, he was a garbled mess of conflicting emotions, slowly dying from denying who he was.

His career depended on him to be masculine. His fans would accept nothing less. His family depended on him to be the head. They needed his strength for their own survival. But Dave's heart depended on him to be honest, because it was threatening to drown from sorrow.

Everyday, he faced this demon; never had he acted on it. For the better part of thirty-seven years, Dave lived as everyone else demanded and it turned his world to black. Yet somehow, someway, the small glimmer of hope outshined all of the cloudiness, insecurity, shame and doubt. Dave was going to do something about the man that he was. He was going to shallow his fear and allow himself to be the man that was meant to be. And if the world couldn't accept it, he hoped that he could find, just one person that could. He was scared, but fear trumped death and he had been dead inside for so long already.

He didn't expect anyone to understand. He had lived his whole life for everyone else. Finally, it was going to be his turn. It took countless quiet mornings in front of a muted television to come to terms that his lie of a life was consuming him. Now, it would take countless mornings of soul searching before a quiet slumber to convince him that it was gonig to be alright. Dave needed to learn to be Dave and accept everything that came with it. And as he laid on the bed, completely warmed by the sun's cleansing rays, he was finally able to do something that he could not do before.

Dave Batista, admitted to himself that he was gay.


	3. Chapter 3

The Lies We Tell Ourselves

The heavy wooden door, in desperate need of oil, screamed each time the metal hinges were forced to grind against each other. It was always the same, a high pitched squeak when the door was pushed forward, a lower squeak when the door swung back, ending with a gentle thud as the felt stoppers prevented it from crashing against the metal frame. Various conversations were muffled but in constant rhythm with the noise of the lockers being opened and closed. And even with the constant screeching of metal hitting metal, the door in agony and the occasional laughter of his colleagues, Dave Batista could only concentrate on one sound. Water.

His position on the wooden bench, carved with names and phone number of various conquests and a few graphics of those encounters, gave him a direct view to the shower entrance. Imagining the gentle beating of warm pellets of wetness, slowly dripping down the chiseled bodies of the men he called his friends brought a feeling of dread to the ex-champion's mind. He had showered hundreds of times with these men, but never before had he understood who he was when he did it.

_I'm gay. So now what?_ He had no idea what that really meant. For him, it meant that he wanted to share his life with another man. But it had to be more to it than that. Was it a lifestyle or a preference? Was it the way he felt or the way he was born? Was he supposed to be attracted to every man or just one in particular? And what about dating and sex? How did that work exactly? How was he supposed to know who was gay?

It was too much. There were so many questions that he should've known the answers to. He had felt this way for over twenty years. He should have learned who he was and what that meant during those awkward teen years and had actual experiences in his twenties. Now, at almost forty, he was just supposed to jump into the life? Who in the hell was he kidding?

_I can't do this._ The fear of the unknown made the dread of his current life seem not so bad. He just needed someone to talk to, but no one would understand this. H_e_ didn't even understand it.

"So, are you in or out?" A nasally voice interrupted Dave's thoughts. The man at the end of the bench looked over at his friend and raised a brow. "You ain't been listen to shit I said."

Dave looked over at his friend and shook his head. "What?"

Bobby Lashley was the closest thing to a best friend that Dave had. For a man that was considered a loner, it was hard to feel comfortable around most people. But Bobby and Dave were so much alike in size and temperament. Both were relatively quiet and did their own things. Neither paid much attention to the younger guys on the roster and were serious about their careers so, they didn't have time for a lot of the silly antics that the other guys did. Bobby was the one friend that had been to Dave's home, and actually had a relationship with his family. He accepted Dave, attitude and all. But, could Bobby handle this? Somehow Dave doubted it. "What's up, man? You've been zoning all night. Is everything alright back home?"

Dave nodded and watched how the muscles in Bobby's chest clinched when he reached over and grabbed his bag. Was that what he was supposed to be attracted to? Was it physical strength or his gentle voice? "Everything's good. I talked to kids today. And this pregnancy is finally starting to agree with Lorrie." _But I'm dying inside. I'm gay, but I don't know what that means._

"So what's the deal? We haven't gone out in ages. And I'm telling you, this club is supposed to have the best ass in all of Canada." Bobby wasn't a partier, but, every now and then he had to get out. He was a young, single man; he had needs.

So did Dave, only he didn't know what they were. Dave raised his brow and pulled himself up to stand. He counted each step toward the showers and let out a sigh as he stepped through the door. He was sure Bobby thought it was because he was asking Dave to go clubbing, but it was really so much more. "I'm married, remember?"

"But you ain't dead. You can look, just don't touch." Bobby peeled off his towel and turned the knobs on the wall. "You haven't been home in a few weeks and you haven't left your hotel room at all. You're becoming a hermit. And there are girls and booze o' plenty just up the road."

Dave turned on his own water and carefully removed his towel. He let the warm water of the spray beat on his head and listened to the melodic sounds of the water dancing around the drains. He was able to tune out the laughter and the conversations from his co-workers as they all talked about their night to come.

* * *

With a sigh, Randy pulled open the door of his locker. Pulling the licorice whip from between the mounds of his lips, he took a second to trace his tongue over them. The aniseed taste was delicious, something he seemed to be craving at the moment. Placing the whip back into his mouth, he absent mindedly twisted it around with his tongue. 

Reaching for the clip on his watch, he unfastened it. Sliding it over his wrist, he placed it on the only shelf inside the locker. Unzipping his jacket, he stuffed it inside along with the bag he had been carrying. He grimaced slightly at he over-extended his surgically repaired shoulder a little. This afternoon's workout at the gym had seen Randy viciously pounding away at the weights in some vague attempt to exorcise himself of the images from last night.

_How the fuck could I have been so stupid? _It had seemed a good idea at the time, picking the cute blonde he found at the bar. How was Randy supposed to know that he was a virgin? Or that he would turn out to be a clingy, whiny, little bastard. Grunting in annoyance, Randy slung both shoes into the locker. They clattered against the back of the small space with a thud.

This seemed to be happening more and more often now. Randy would meet a guy, they would go back to said guy's place, because you never took a new piece of ass to your own place, and they would fuck. The next thing Randy knew, they were all over him like they were betrothed and shit. He started wondering if he should make sure his potential fuck-buddy of the night understood the term 'one night stand' before he headed out with them.

_Like that blonde kid, Jerome. What the fuck was his deal? It was just a little butt love. _Shaking his head, Randy pulled his plain white tee-shirt up and over his head. Placing it inside, his hands immediately went for the clasp on his jeans. Loosening the belt, the button popped out of the hole in which it had been fastened. Lowering the zipper, Randy allowed the jeans to fall into a puddle around his ankles.

Stepping out of the jeans, he scooped them up and placed them inside the locker. Randy couldn't help but wonder if maybe he was the strange one in all this. Was he really the only person out there looking for a good time instead of marriage? It felt that way sometimes. Either way, he was really starting to get sick and tired of it. He wasn't up for relationships, or feelings or boyfriends. He just wanted to fuck... plain and simple. He would happily take a guy to back and give them the ride of their lives. But, that was all he was interested in. A physical connection. Not an emotional one.

With, perhaps an over dramatic sigh, Randy hooked his thumbs into the waist band of his boxer-briefs. In one swift move, they slide down over his thighs to the ground. Snatching them from the ground, he tossed them into the locker. Slamming the door closed, Randy stopped to admire himself. Resting his hands on either hip, he stared down at his manhood and smiled. No wonder boys and girls went crazy over him.

Reaching down, he took the shaft his hand and ran it along his entire length before letting it spring free. He wasn't trying to get himself aroused by any stretch of the imagination. Rather, it was a case of narcissism in the extreme. Randy simply liked the feel of himself in his own hand.

With a satisfied smirk, he pulled the whip from his mouth; he tossed it into a trash can as he grabbed the towel which rested on the bench behind him. Most would tie it around their waists as a mark of modesty. Randy Orton wasn't one of those people. Living by the idea: if you've got it, flaunt it. For that reason he saw no need to cover anything up.

Unfortunately, Brian Kendrick didn't seem to live by the same principles. Heading into the locker-room so he could get to the showers, he was treated the sight of Randy Orton in all his glory. His eyes widened for a second, before his head turned away. "Fuck Orton. Put your fucking dick away, already." Chuckling, Randy pouted his lips into a kiss as he headed past Kendrick. "Fucking queer."

Kendrick's acerbic comment didn't go unnoticed by Randy. In a drawn out fashion, he turned back to face Brian. "That's funny, you didn't have a problem with being queer at Wrestlemania. In fact, as I recall, wasn't it you who came my room just so you could suck my…"

"Shut the fuck up Orton." Brian hissed, his eyes narrowed into a death stare. "I was drunk and high. My girlfriend and I had broken up and I didn't know what the fuck I was doing. If that ever gets out, I swear to God, I'll beat the living shit out of you."

"Oh I think you _beat me _enough after Wrestlemania." Slinging his towel over his shoulder, Randy smirked. "And then next time you and London break up, don't come crawling to me to fuck you. Fucking queer."

Rolling his eyes, Randy turned his back on the fuming Kendrick and headed for the showers. He was really getting sick and tired of the attitudes of people that he worked with. It wasn't exactly a secret to anyone that he fucked dudes like there was no tomorrow. In actual fact, Randy had lost count of the amount of guys on the roster that he'd actually been with. Sure, they all said they were straight and had wives and girlfriends. Yet it was strange what a mixture of pain, booze and the pressures of being on the road could do to a guy.

Still, despite his actions between both rosters, Randy's penchant for men was something no one talked about. It was acknowledge but never brought up in discussion. As long as Randy conducted himself with a modicum of tact, he was allowed to pretty much do whatever and whoever he wanted.

But that had done nothing to quell the little side comments and quips made by his fellow wrestlers, like the one he had just gotten from Brian. It was all good and well for Randy to suck his dick when he was feeling lonely and in a quiet hotel room. But when they were in the harsh light of day, it was a completely different game.

And Randy was sick of it.

He was sick of being the subject of gossip and rumors and bitchy comments, yet never being able to discuss his preferences openly. He was sick of having to pick up vapid blonde tramps at gay bars only to have to bail as soon as possible lest he be tricked into marriage. God forbid he could ever actually been seen doing anything of the sort. It was a stifling existence, and Randy was getting sick of it.

_Why don't I give them something to really talk about? If they want to talk behind my back so much, maybe I should give them something worthwhile to gossip over._ The thought hatched to life before Randy had even realized he had a want to do something about it. Pushing open the door to the showers, it groaned in protest at moving shoved aside. Not that Randy noticed too much. He was already engrossed in thought.

* * *

Still vaguely listening to Bobby convince him why he should go out, Dave noticed Randy Orton walking into the showers. There as something about the way he paraded himself around the locker-room that put Dave on edge. Randy Orton was very attractive, from his pouty lips, down to his chiseled chest to what Dave would consider perfect thighs. If the rumors were true, it was no wonder that Randy Orton had bedded half of roster; the man had this charm about him. 

It was no secret to any of the guys that Randy sometimes enjoyed the company of his co-workers, men and women alike. It was never really talked about, just the occasional whisper here and there, but Dave found himself increasingly interested in which of the guys Randy had been with. How did Randy know who was gay or at least into experimenting? Did they seek him out, or was Randy the one in hot pursuit? It wasn't like he could ask him. They weren't what anyone would consider friends. They had spent some time together in Evolution, but even during that time Dave stayed to himself and Randy was the life of the party. Even though Dave considered the younger man to be cocky and arrogant, he still probably knew more about what Dave was going through than Dave did himself. Turning around and placing both hands on the wall, Dave hung his head to try to avoid the mess that his "new" life was quickly becoming. It had to get better. It just had to.

Slinging his towel aside, Randy headed to the nearest vacant shower. Switching it on, he gasped softly as the felt the water from above poor down in a torrent of heated drops. It slid down over the expanse of his sculpted body, glistening off each mound and curve of his abdomen. Turning his back, Randy reveled in the feeling of the heated water traveling down his back in easy river. They pooled down over the curves and between the cheeks of his ass, causing him to smile.

As he turned around to let the water relax the muscles in his back, Dave opened his eyes and noticed everything about everyone in that shower. It was an unwritten rule in the showers; eyes to the front and look at nothing directly. But for some reason Dave couldn't help himself. If he was gay, shouldn't he find out what he found attractive?

_The best relationships start out as friendships._ Maybe this wouldn't be as bad as he was making out to be. Surely, in a company with over one hundred employees, Dave couldn't have been the only gay one there. Maybe someone else he knew was in the same boat. Maybe someone that he already felt comfortable with was just as confused as he was. If he took the time to notice something about the people he already knew, maybe he could find out what he was attracted to and hopefully, they would be able soothe the uneasiness in his mind.

Across from Dave, stood Jeff Hardy. There was something about the sleek build of the man that Dave found inviting. He wasn't intimidating, but, soft and graceful. The way his long hair clung to his back as he washed, held Dave's gaze. He couldn't take his eyes off of Jeff's tattoo, the way it moved as his arm moved to work the shampoo into his scalp, the gentle way he tossed his head back to rinse. Looking at Jeff made Dave feel like he was doing something wrong. He could actually feel his muscles clinch at the thought of touching Jeff's hand or smelling the fruity scented shampoo close up. _Maybe that's what I'm attracted to_. If nothing else, being with a "Jeff Hardy" would make him feel like more of a man. But as for the man himself, despite his soft and quiet demeanor, Dave knew that Jeff was definitely heterosexual. And for that reason, Dave would not allow himself to think anything else about Jeff.

Opening his eyes, Randy's gaze fell across the other men in the room. Turning back into the path of the water, he found himself opposite Jeff Hardy. He was one of the most attractive men on the roster; one Randy had been after for years. He'd always thought that out of everyone in the company, Jeff would be the one most open to experimentation. Apparently not. He was in love with his girlfriend, and not even Randy could tempt him away. Still, that didn't mean Randy couldn't enjoy perving over his toned body in the shower.

Next to Jeff, stood Shelton Benjamin. The way the water ran over his chocolate colored skin made Randy think so many thoughts that he was surprised he wasn't erect. Randy found something quite intoxicating about Shelton's boyish features. They displayed an inherent innocence that Randy would just love to corrupt. Besides which, the man had the kind of ass you could bounce a quarter off.

Dave let his eyes drift from Jeff's body over to that of Shelton Benjamin's. Shelton had a cute face, like a little boy's. His body was definitely attractive, especially his round backside. But there was something about Shelton that Dave didn't like. He couldn't quite put his finger on it; maybe it was the fact that he was pigeon toed. Although he knew that was a stupid reason to discount someone as being attractive, it was the only other tangible obstacle he could find. Shelton was always good for a conversation and his dimpled smile, always brought a smile to Dave's face. And though Shelton was an attractive man, there was no attraction there what so ever. Dave couldn't see himself with Shelton or anyone like him for that matter.

Opposite Shelton was the blonde Adam Copeland. Randy smirked he made no effort to hide the fact that he was staring at the part of Adam that hung between his legs. If the professional wrestler was anything to go by, they must grow them big in Canada. Something which Randy happened to know was factually true.

To Dave's immediate left was Adam Copeland, with his beautiful blonde hair. The way the water clung to each golden strand created a sea of honey waves around his delicate shoulders, made Dave take in a deep breath. He couldn't hear what the younger man was saying over the water playing a soft beat on his scalp, but his eyes were in perfect working order to watch Adam smile. There was something magical that happened when Adam smiled. His wide mouth exposed those perfect teeth and his hazel eyes lit up every time. Adam was definitely attractive to Dave, but he didn't think that he was the type of man that he wanted to be with. Physically, Adam was beautiful, but being in a relationship was supposed to be more than just physical. Not that Adam wasn't a nice guy; Dave just couldn't imagine having in depth conversations with him or feeling his body pressed up against his.

It was hopeless. There was no way in hell Dave would be able to figure out what he wanted.

But, anyone of these men would easily appease Randy. If he could have his wicked way with just one of them, he would cause a stir backstage that hadn't been seen before. It would be easy enough to tempt them, Randy imagined. Even Jeff. He would just have to make a concentrated effort. After all, Randy was the definition of irresistible. There wasn't anyone he couldn't corrupt if he wanted. It just depended on who he was dealing with.

Running the soap across his chest, Dave became lost in his thoughts. His eyes settled on Orton's body, taking in the way the water clung to his skin and the billows of steam surrounded him. Dave didn't think he was interested in Orton, more like mesmerized. He was smaller in size, about Dave's size ten years ago, but even with his hard lines and sharp angles, there were some times when Randy appeared to be soft. It was something that Dave was sure most people didn't see, but occasionally it was there, in a glance…in a quiet moment when Randy wasn't putting on a show. He seemed to enjoy the fact that people were mortified by his behavior, but something in Randy's crystal blue eyes made him almost fragile; it almost made him seem human. _Maybe you're fighting it, too. I wonder if you 've been through, what I'm going through?_

Smirking softly to himself, Randy glanced past Copeland to the next body. He couldn't help but bite down on his bottom lip as the mountain of muscle that made up Dave Batista came into view. Randy's gaze devoured every inch of body on the tanned wrestler. Nothing was spared - from the thick set thigh muscles to the bulging biceps. Everything about Batista screamed dominance and power. Randy even imagined allowing himself to be topped by Batista. That was a special honor coming from Randy Orton, who was an exclusive top himself. There was only one other person who could say they had penetrated Randy. He was the first and last.

But for Dave Batista, Randy would make an exception.

The idea seemed more and more delicious as Randy pondered on it further. Licking his lips, he could just imagine how rough sex would be with Batista. Judging by the size of Batista's manhood, Randy probably wouldn't be able to sit down for a month. But that was a small price to be paid to be dominated by the animal. Indeed, Randy wondered just how much of an _animal_ the man could be.

The snag came, however, with Batista's wife. As far as Randy knew, Batista was married and had kids. That presented a problem. However much he lusted after him, it would be impossible to actually get him into bed, despite Randy's talent for manipulation. Still, if by some grace Randy could get Batista into bed that would be the biggest scandal since Hunter had been found fucking the boss's daughter. The dominating Dave Batista found in bed with another man? It was perfect; exactly the kind of noise Randy would try to create. Nothing said scandal like a family man having his ass pounded by another guy.

Randy's tongue slid over his bottom lip in an almost predatory fashion. As chance would have it, Randy managed to tear his eyes away from the sight between Batista's legs long enough to catch the big man's eyes. By chance, Randy caught his gaze. Batista looked like a deer caught in the headlights, and immediately looked in the opposite direction. Randy smirked, suspecting the man was alarmed at Randy checking him out.

Dave immediately turned his head and tried to concentrate on washing himself. _Oh my God. Orton saw me. Shit. He saw me looking. Did he notice me looking at everyone else, too? _Dave broke the unwritten rule; he got caught checking the guys out in the showers. But he wasn't checking them out. Not in a sexual way. He knew he was attracted to men, but not what he found attractive in a man. He wasn't trying to do anything to any of the guys there. He just wanted to know what he liked. His heart rate sped up and he knew at any moment was going to be sick in the shower. _He knows. Oh God, he thinks I'm a fucking queer. They're all gonna think I'm some fucking pervert._ He ran a shaky hand through his hair and closed his eyes tightly. _He's going to tell them. How the fuck am I supposed to handle this, shit? I didn't mean anything by looking. _His world was going to end before he even figured out what it was supposed to be. Dave wasn't ready to deal with people knowing, especially when he still didn't know what that meant. He couldn't take losing his family and his friends, not yet. Wasn't he supposed to be comfortable in his skin before he had to deal with everyone else? Randy Orton was going to ruin that. He was going to have them judge him before he was able to judge himself.

He could still feel Orton's eyes pinned on him. Admitting that he was gay was supposed to be liberating. But somehow knowing that Randy Orton was watching him, made it feel like a prison.

Still, Randy smiled broadly. Grabbing the soap between his hands, he made a show of lathering up his body, spending entirely too much time with his hands on his growing hardness. It was typical Randy behavior to flaunt himself in front of the other guys. But today's show was restricted for the benefit of Dave Batista. The more Randy thought about seducing the Dave, the more Randy convinced himself this was the greatest idea he had ever come up with.

Grinning, Randy winked in Batista's direction, who was still looking terribly uncomfortable. This was going to be entirely too much fun.

"So…you coming?" Bobby's words shot through Dave's paranoia as he reluctantly turned his head.

Quickly glancing toward a smiling Randy Orton and dropping his eyes in shame to the floor, Dave nodded his head. "I'll be there." Until Dave figured out how to handle this situation it was still about keeping up appearances.


	4. Chapter 4

The Lies We Tell Ourselves

Hundreds of perfectly round bubbles dropped from the ceiling as if they had not a care in the world. As soon as the machine started, the people below increased their volume and raised their hands toward the heavens as if to beckons the tiny droplets to rain down on them. The partiers welcomed the small symbol of their youth upon their heads as if it were somehow symbolic of a cleansing. To Dave Batista, those bubbles were anything but.

The way the lights refracted from the result of soap being pushed through a round surface behind a great force of air, made his stomach churn. They were soft and feminine, like his wife and his daughter; the two women in his life that he knew would be crushed the most. They were youthful and haphazard, like his son; the boy who would study his every move, hoping one day to become a man like he was. Those bubbles, flashing a spectrum of color with each pass of the strobe light, waving their rainbow flags around their perfectly spherical forms, were a sign of his torment.

Even the dancers, perched high above the floor in their gilded cages, felt symbolic. So far removed from the rest of their peers, forced into isolation, while still watching the party raging just outside of their reach. They were meant to look content, paid to have a good time, but it was all an act. And he understood. He understood being locked away, suspended in air, dangling mere inches from what he actually wanted to have, to be. The smiles the dancers wore seemed a hollow echo of the lie plastered on his own face daily. (1)

Continuing to nurse his beer, Dave glanced over at his Rolex covered wrist and sighed. He had only been at the club for a half hour and already it felt like an eternity. Avoiding the occasional look from Bobby, Dave forced a smile at the brunette sitting to his left. There was once a time when he pretended to enjoy a woman's attention. He would flirt, gently moving their hair over their shoulder as undressed them with his stare and spoke in a soft baritone. He use to enjoy toying with them, knowing that he could get them aroused to the point of giving into his every demand, while laughing inside because he wasn't interested. He had lied long enough to himself and everyone around him that the reason he never took anyone back to his hotel was because he desperately loved his wife. He knew that was the furthest thing from the truth.

Dave never took a woman back with him for the simple fact that she was a woman. Had he been at a gay club, having a gorgeous brunette draped over him, he wasn't sure if he would even remember his wedding vows. But that wasn't what he wanted. He didn't want to go out and meet some random guy, only to have one night with him. He wasn't so sure that he was looking for happily ever after, either. He had supposedly found that when he married and his ever after had been anything but happy.

The only semblance of happiness he found were on the faces of his children; the very same children whose lives he was going to tear apart. There was no way that they would understand what he was going through, or what his revelation meant to him. His son admired him too much, unknowingly pressuring him to be this symbol of masculinity that he wasn't sure he really was. His daughter adored him, always wishing his approval and telling him that she would marry a man of his caliber. And what of this new baby? What pressures would this child put on him? Still six months from being born, this child would never understand how its father's sexuality broke down the stable family environment that had been promised to it. Then there was his wife. He couldn't even fathom the devastating effect this would have on her. The mere thought of it made him nauseous.

Perhaps his revelation should have been reduced to just a working theory.

Taking one more look at the bubble machine, now doubling its efforts, he felt his heart sink. "I'm going back to the hotel." Dave's voice cut across the table and pulled Bobby's head from the neck of the blonde that was perched on his lap. He ignored the sad sigh of the woman seated next to him and the hopeful gazes of the others at the table. If he could just make it out the door without explaining himself, it would be smooth sailing.

"Come on, man. We just got here." Bobby's tipsy smile shined across the dimly lit table as his body still rocked to the beat of the song. Motioning his head toward the woman next to Dave, he looked his friend in the eye. "Besides…I think your friend likes the company."

Dave looked over at his companion and raised his brow. So eager, this young woman was, literally leaning on his side. Her weight rested on him so heavily, that if he moved, she would have landed on her face. He had to get out of that place and away from that woman and all of her cleavage.

Making a show of twirling his wedding band around his finger, Dave raised his eyes back to Bobby. "I gotta call my wife and say goodnight to my kids." Gently nudging his arm away from the leach attached to it, Dave rested his hand on hers. "It was nice meeting you." Without so much as a second glance in her direction, he stood from the table and made his way to the door.

His ears rang immediately as soon as he met the chilled silence of the world outside the noisy establishment. The air was crisp, sending a chill straight up his nose, and down his throat causing him to utter a slight cough. Dave turned the collar up on his coat and stuffed his hands in his pockets before starting the six block walk back to the hotel. He didn't mind the cold; it actually helped clear his mind. With nothing to concentrate on but his smoky breath as he took heavy steps toward his destination, Dave took this moment to clear his conscious.

Coming out would be a challenge, but the rewards would be better than the pain. The trade off wasn't fair… his pain for that of those he loved. But he couldn't love them, not they deserved, if he didn't love himself. Now, Dave Batista needed to figure out just how to do that. Being gay would be hard, but living a lie was so much harder. All it took was learning how to be comfortable in his sexuality; knowing that this wasn't a choice for him, but who he was. Why should he live at the expense of others? Revelation or working theory, something had to give.

The darkened shop windows only honed in on the desolate wasteland in his heart. Each large window showed that with a flip of a switch, new life would be brought back into space as soon as the warm bodies arrived. If only being gay was like flipping a fucking switch. He wanted noting more than to be able to turn himself on and know who in the hell he was supposed to be. Maybe if he could flip a switch it would increase that small glimmer of hope that occupied the back of his mind. And like a sign, Dave happened to look across the empty street and noticed a neon light, illuminating the otherwise darkened corner, and a familiar cocky smile.

Perhaps he held the key, that is, if the stories were true. Maybe this one man, the one with the chip on his shoulder, would be the one to help him on his journey, teach him what he needed to learn, show him how to embrace the man he was and wanted to be. But how was Dave going to enlist Randy Orton to be his tour guide on his journey to self discovery? He had no idea.

And judging by the rumors, was Randy Orton really the kind of man Dave wanted to help him come to terms with exactly who he was? He wasn't exactly known for his penchant for relationships. If anything, Randy was known for one thing only. And that was to bed as many people as humanly possible in his life.

It didn't matter who they were or what they did. They could be gay, straight, male, female - it simply didn't matter. Randy simply enjoyed sex. He didn't put limits or boundaries on it. He didn't label the joining of two people as anything other than a physical connection. By the same token, as open as he may have been sexually, he certainly didn't believe in relationships. If anything, the prospect put a child-like fear in Randy. Love wasn't his thing. Hot, passionate fucking was.

And that was his goal for this evening.

Smirking into the night air, he continued to walk along the sidewalk, oblivious to everything around him. Dressed in a pair of tight fitting boot-cut jeans, his hands rested in the shallow pockets below his hips. His torso was partially hidden behind a black shirt, broken by white pin-stripes. Despite the cold, it seemed only the three buttons in the center of his abdomen had been fastened. His chest and lower abs were exposed as the bitterly cold breezed pulled the material aside to reveal his tanned flesh.

Striding confidently, he turned a corner, stopping before a doorway that Dave didn't recognize. It was a given that the superstars of World Wrestling Entertainment traveled, worked and partied together. They went out in hordes, usually to the same tried and tested venues. It was usually the kind of places that allowed the superstars in without any fuss from overzealous celebrities. They had full VIP treatment, and the benefit's the club came with all the while being surrounding by a bevy of beautiful women.

Dave didn't couldn't help but take a few steps forward, trying better to see where Randy was going. It was obviously a nightclub, judging by the ropes stretching around the street corner to keep a line in check. Dave wasn't surprised as Randy simply walked to the front of the line and headed straight through the open doors.

He couldn't honestly say what he was doing, let alone why, but Batista found himself heading across the street to follow Randy. In his mind, he desperately tried to rationalize what he was doing. He was just checking out a new club that Randy had found. There wasn't any harm in it. Maybe he could even use this opportunity to strike up a conversation with Orton…get inside his head a little. Dave figured that if he could spend just a little time with Randy, he might have a hope of getting a better handle on what it would mean to live an alternative lifestyle.

Pulling the collar of his jacket up, Dave did his best to obscure his face was curious glances and perplexed stares. Mercifully, the bouncer discreetly recognized him, and simply allowed him entry without question. Inhaling sharply, Dave headed inside.

Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw. The club stretched out in front of him in a glittering wave of silver and fluorescent light. The main space was taken up by the huge dance floor that was currently packed with a swarm of throbbing bodies. There was another level to the club, leading to two separate balconies that hung out over the main floor. These balconies had their own set of partying revelers, as well as the obligatory cage dancers. It looked like an ordinary club, but there was something that Dave couldn't seem to put his finger on.

Keeping himself to the shadows of the wall, he carefully navigated around the side. His ears recognized the song playing to an extent. It was something by Britney Spears. He couldn't name it, but he knew instinctively what it was. Glancing around the club, it dawned on Batista exactly what he just walked into.

The dance floor was predominantly male. Dancing and grinding, kissing and groping - he had walked head first into a gay club! A wave of icy fear flooded through his veins as his worst nightmares polluted his mind. What if someone found out he'd been here? What if someone recognized him? The outcome was too terrible to imagine. Despite his large frame, he did his best to sink back further into the shadows, away from the prying lights and intrusive bodies.

It was then that he noticed Randy.

Standing over by the bar, Randy didn't lack for company. Standing next to him was a young brunette. His body was pressed closely and his face was hidden by the side of Randy's. Even from this distance, Dave saw how Randy had his hand resting dangerously low on the guy's waist. His fingers delicately danced around the waist-band of the guy's jeans, as his lips burned a trail of kisses over his neck. Dave swallowed audibly, transfixed by the scene playing out before him.

This was his first experience inside a gay club, not to mention seeing how they interacted with one another. Randy was clearly a master at flirting, looking hungrily into his prospective partner's eyes. His hands never seemed to lose contact with the other man's skin. Dave wondered that by keeping his hands on the other man, Randy was holding him under some kind of thrall.

It didn't matter however, as Randy simply leaned his head forward. Capturing the other man's mouth with his own, he kissed the guy deeply while his hands hungrily exploring the other's back. Dave found himself completely lost in the seat. It was an erotic sight, as much as it was a learning experience. Randy had hooked that guy in less than ten minutes. It seemed going in for the kiss had sealed the deal. Randy took the guys' hand in his own, and started to lead him away from the bar.

Alarm started to register in Batista's mind as he realized Randy was walking in his direction. He was leading him to one of the darkened areas of the club to do God only knows what. Dave realized that if he moved to get out of the way, he would be forced to step into the light. If that happened, the game would be up immediately. Randy would see him and recognized him instantly. It would be well and truly over.

As Randy edged closer, Batista breathed heavily. _What am I going to do?_

Dave watched in horror as Randy steadily made his approach. He knew for sure that his cover had been blown, but by the Grace of God, a pair of arms snaked out from the crowd and encircled Randy's waist. Dave watched as the younger man turned his body around to take a look at the person behind him. That was Dave's chance to slip out unnoticed. Ducking his head down, Dave stood and made his way quickly toward the restroom.

Randy turned to stare into the blue eyes of not one, but two buxom blondes. _Lipstick lesbians_, he mused. This night just kept getting better and better. It wasn't as though he had never had a party before, but he wasn't so sure that his piece for the night would agree. Truthfully, when he went to the club, he was in the mood for meat but he was not one to turn down a good piece of fish. Perhaps, on tonight's menu was a little surf 'n turf.

No words were spoken, just an intense stare between he and the taller of the two women. As if on cue, the taller of the blondes grabbed the shorter one by the hair before roughly sticking her tongue in the girl's mouth. _I could do a lot with that…_ Now the hard part would be to convince the adorable, little boy on his arm that this experience would be fun for the whole family.

Randy didn't take his eyes off the women, as he tugged on the boy's arm to force him to stand in front of him, facing the girls. "You like that?" Randy whispered in his ear, taking the time to run his tongue over his earlobe. The boy shaking his head proved to be a problem, but Randy wasn't one to give up that easily. He was a master of manipulation and people didn't say no to him…at least not for long.

Forcing the boy to watch these two beauties make out in front of them, Randy slowly slid his hand down the his companion's chest and lower down to the front of his jeans while carefully grinding his hips into his round backside. "You feel how hard that makes me? Just imagine, one of them sucking you, while the other's eating her and I'm fucking tearing your ass up…" Randy cupped the boys groin and bit him on the neck, "I'm gonna make you scream."

That was enough to put the poor boy under Randy's trance. With a lust drunk look in his eye, the brunette turned back toward Randy and captured his lips. Randy held one hand out toward the blondes and placed his other hand on the small of the boy's back, leading his party toward the exit.

Dave watched the entire display from outside of the restroom. He tried his best to ignore the looks and smiles from the random men floating in and out. Then there was the panting couple that constantly bumped into him as they tried to eat each others faces off. But what really did it for Dave was when the small, shirtless, tanned, lecherous being attached himself to his waist. Dave looked down at the elf-like face of the man grinding into him to the beat of the music. Judging by his youthfulness look, this boy couldn't have been more than twenty. His blonde highlighted brown hair was long in the front and hung over his eye. The gold necklace that rested on the base of his throat read, Javier. Apparently, Javier had decided that Dave was his type. Dave tried to move out of the way, but apparently Javier wasn't taking the hint. Instead, he turned around and started to grind his backside into Dave's pelvis never losing the rhythm of the song.

Was this what he was signing up for? Was this what being gay was like? From what Dave had witnessed, it wasn't much different than being straight. Instead of having random women approaching him and giving themselves permission to touch him, here this twink had afforded himself the same luxury. With a frustrated growl, Dave moved Javier out of his way as gently as possible and proceeded to exit the club.

Ducking his head into the collar of his coat, Dave made his way back across the street and resumed his journey toward the hotel. This night had proved to be more than he could handle. He had gotten caught looking in the showers, ended up in a gay club, watched Randy turn into a mack, and got accosted. But no matter what he experienced, his mind continued to drift back to Randy Orton.

_How in the hell did he just walk in a club and pull not one, but three people to take back to his room? What was that about it?_ Sure, Randy was an attractive man, but it was more than that. Dave noticed the way that all heads turned when Randy made his entrance. He turned on this sex appeal that was unparalleled. And with all the choices he could have had for the night, he seemed to known exactly what he was interested in. There was no hesitation on Randy's part, he was confident…he literally just stood at the bar and waited for his conquest to come to him.

_It was so natural for Orton. How the hell did he do that?_ By the time Dave had looked up, he was standing outside of the hotel.

Walking slowly toward his room, Dave's head turned toward the sounds of sex, laughter and moaning emanating from Bobby's room. The familiar sense of despair crept back into his heart. While it seemed like everyone else was having a night to remember, inevitably, his night would be the same. Again, he would sit in front of the muted television, dreading the morning phone call from home.

And the worst part about it was that he would be doing it alone.

* * *

(1) This paragraph was rewritten by Queen of Kaos and used with her permission. 


	5. Chapter 5

The Lies We Tell Ourselves

The topic of conversation around the table ranged from completely mundane things like favorite beers to the hottest spots to visit, and everything else in between. Once again, a random room in the back of a random arena had been transformed into the WWE's conference room. And as it had become predictable at these gatherings, Dave Batista found himself concentrating on trying to soothe the ache that started in the center of his heart and settled deep in his stomach.

Today's wake up call was delivered by his oldest child, his son, Nick. Though the phone call only lasted five minutes, it was easily the five of the most torturous minutes of his entire life. They talked about little league, Bionicles and of course wrestling. For five minutes, Dave listened to his son catch him up on the events of his young life. And just when he thought that this day wouldn't turn out all bad, his wife took the phone.

"_Did he tell you that he got in trouble at school?__"__ It was blatantly obvious when Lorrie was upset. Dave could almost imagine her standing the way she would, with her hand on her hip, and her weight resting on one leg as she chewed on her bottom lip as though her life depended on it. The thought of her cheeks flaring red in frustration churned Dave's stomach more completely than a rollercoaster ever could. __"__Apparently he hit some boy on the playground who said that you were gay.__"_

_Dave__'__s heart lurched to his throat. Without realizing it, he had clenched his fist into a vice like ball in a vain attempt to remind himself to breathe. __"__I__'__m what?__"_

"_Yeah. The kid said you were gay. Nick was bragging that you were the champion once and you would be again and the kid said you were a __'__fag__'__ because you couldn't beat Edge.__"__ She laughed at the absurdity of the statement. All at once she stopped, realizing she was laughing alone at the slander. It wasn't lost on her that he was quiet on the line. __"__They__'__re just kids, honey. You know how they are.__"_

"_I know.__"__ He knew alright, silently frightened his guilty tone would give him away. He knew that what the kid said was right. He knew why his son had gotten upset. Would that be the reaction he would have if he ever found out the truth? Would he lash out in violence because his father wasn't the man he believed him to be? __"__I just don__'__t want Nick fighting.__"__ Would Nick fight everyday of his life defending his father? Would he feel obligated to? Or would he fight the more effeminate boys in an attempt to rebel against what his father really stood for? He could easily become a homophobic bully, misdirecting the anger towards his father on anything that reminded him of his family's shameful secret. It was almost too much to bear. __"__I gotta go. I__'ll__ talk to you later.__"_

"_I love you, Dave.__"__ Lorrie__'__s voice was so sweet and he could feel that she meant that over the phone._

_Swallowing the bile that crept into his throat, Dave licked his lips despite his cotton mouth, and found enough breath to return the sentiment. __"__I love you, too.__"_

And now he sat in a room surrounded by his colleagues and a few friends, listening to how joyously they talked about their trip to come. Traveling overseas was both a blessing and a curse. Most of the guys on the roster hated to go, because it meant weeks away from home, weeks away from the lives they lead and the people they loved. It was time away from their families, coupled with jet lag, foreign food and people talking to them in languages they didn't understand.

For Dave Batista, it was an honest Godsend. Not only would he be away from his family, but he wouldn't have to worry about protecting his secret twenty-four hours a day. Maybe he would even have time to explore a side of himself that he desperately tried to disown all his life.

Life was different in Europe. There wasn't such a stigma put on homosexuality there. By American standards, most European men appeared to be gay, anyway. Maybe if he could slip away to a place where he was less known, he could start to figure out just what the fuck he was supposed to do. Maybe he would finally have the confidence to be who he knew he was. Would he finally have the guts to let the heterosexual mask slip long enough to explore the part of himself that he had denied for so long?

"Your hair is getting so long." Randy Orton's voice cut across the table, forcing heads to turn in his direction. He sat next to a very blonde, very small, Shannon Moore. Orton's large hand was running its way through Shannon's ponytail, taking his time to explore the texture beneath the tips of his fingers. Every now and again, the tips would sneak a gentle caress at the nape of Shannon's neck, causing the smaller man to shiver involuntarily. "You know what I'd like to do with all that hair?"

Shannon was uncomfortable. It was written all over his face. He scanned the room for another empty seat, but it was to no avail. Desperately, his eyes begged whoever he could see to intervene on his behalf. No one met his eyes. He was stuck sitting next to Orton, and having him touch him in ways that made his stomach turn. "Get your ass beat?"

A slight chuckle erupted from Randy's throat. He leaned in closer to Shannon and spoke so only he heard. "_You_ know what I like to do with that hair. Run my fingers through it, pull it from behind…make you my bitch. _You_ like it, too."

"Shut up." He whispered. It only happened one time, and as far as Shannon was concerned, no one ever needed to know about it. He moved his head away from the feel of Randy's breath on his neck.

There were uncomfortable groans from the other men at the table. Randy Orton was at it again. What he did in his private life, should be just that. Private. None of them should have to be subjected to watching his advances, hearing about the things he did or wanted to do. Though no one at the table would admit it, Randy had done things to more than one of them, on more than one occasion. As salacious as he was, no one could deny the magnetism Randy oozed. He knew how to get what he wanted, and made sure everyone knew it as well.

He enjoyed these little displays, toying with whoever it was had taken his fancy today. He loved the reactions on their faces as he laid the charm on some unsuspecting OVW newbie, or maybe one of the Diva Search troop. The way their voices groaned as he whispered exactly what he'd like to do to them, and how he was going to do it. Of course everyone swore they didn't want to see it. But no one ever stopped him, the same way no one ever resisted him. No one could hope to. If Randy wanted you, you eventually gave in. It was a done deal.

"Do we have to go through this shit every time we have a fucking meeting? God damn! What happened to the 'don't ask, don't tell' policy?" Adam Copeland's voice rang out loud enough to cause a hush through the entire room. It was not his intention to draw more attention to their table, but enough was enough.

Dave Batista watched the slow smirk that crossed Orton's face. There was no embarrassment at all this the young man. Randy visibly seemed to enjoy the fact that he was pissing off other people. Dave let his eyes shift to Shannon Moore. The distinct color of blush crept up his tattooed neck and settled on his ears. He kept his eyes lowered, as if he looked up, everyone would know the truth. The truth hit Batista with all the ferocity of a freight train. It was so complete; he honestly wondered how he hadn't spotted it earlier.

Randy had had Shannon before.

How the hell did that happen? Shannon was straight… he had been married. He was little and scrappy, he liked to drink and fight. He definitely was full of testosterone. How did Randy manage to get him in bed? Did he break him down? Did he pursue him until the smaller man just gave in? Or did Shannon approach him? How did the other know that they both would be accepting? Dave watched Randy with an intensity that was unparalleled. As much as he felt reviled by Randy's methods, he had to know how it was done.

Randy slowly slid his large hand across the nylon material of Shannon's track pants. Starting on the outside hem, he let his fingers glide smoothly across the black fabric until they reached his inner thigh. Granted it was under the table, but the way Shannon closed his eyes, Randy knew that it would be a matter of time before someone noticed. "What's wrong Copeland? You jealous? You want me, too? I got time…I gotta thing for blondes today."

"I will kick your bitch ass." Adam rolled his eyes at his former tag-team partner and looked at the small woman handing out papers. "Do your whoring on your own time."

Randy's smirk spread across his face with the charm of a Cheshire cat. There was definite potential for fun there. Making a mental note, Randy smiled even more broadly. Running his tongue over his plump bottom lip, Randy let his gaze fall over the table and land on Dave Batista. There eyes met for a brief moment, before the larger man dropped his. He looked mortified at Randy's behavior, which caught Randy's attentions. When Dave lifted his eyes again, Randy smiled and blinked slowly. He wondered why it had taken him so long to decide to pursue Batista, especially considering Batista was exactly his type. Masculine, and best of all, unattainable.

_Unattainable to anyone who isn't me. _His hand still trailed a steady, slow path up Shannon's thigh and he turned his head and smiled at the blonde when he felt the effect he had on him, through his pants. Turning back to look at Dave, Randy spoke to Adam. "You wanna sit on Daddy's lap, too? I'll make it worth your while."

Just as Adam was about to stand up with clinched fists, he felt a hand touch his arm. "That's what he wants. He wants you to get pissed off. He likes the attention." Brian Kendrick shook his head in disgust. Why in the hell did he ever sleep with him? It was probably the worst mistake he ever made. It was a mistake that was going to haunt him for the rest of his life, because Randy would make sure that it did. And the bastard would enjoy it, too.

Dave couldn't turn away. It was like a car crash, yet no matter how pissed Copeland and Kendrick seemed, he could only concentrate on Shannon Moore's face. He no longer looked mortified; instead, he looked like he was waging a war within himself. His eyes were closed, and his jaws were clenched unbelievably tight. He breathed steadily through his nose, but it was in the subtle way that his shoulders slumped backward, that held Dave's attention. Dave realized that Shannon was feeling anything but hostile toward Randy at that moment. What was Randy doing to him? How did he manage that at a table full of people? He had somehow managed to piss everyone off to the extent that no one noticed how he was affecting the young blonde to his left. It was truly a sight to behold.

"_You_ should know, I don't like attention. I'm just really good at what I do." Winking at Kendrick, Randy removed his hand from Shannon's lap and accepted the paper from the young intern. "Thanks Sweetheart." He smiled at the woman, eliciting a giggle from her and watched her ass she continued to walk around the room. "My room, after the meeting." He whispered to Shannon, before returning his hand to the smaller man's lap, then turning his full attention to the person speaking to the group.

Travel Director, Richard Houston, took his place in the center of the semi-circle of tables. All eyes were directed to him as he cleared his throat. Pushing his wireframes up on his nose, he stared intently down to the document he clasped in his hand. Richard was responsible for all the traveling of the WWE and it's superstars. It was up to him to make sure that people and equipment were where they were supposed to be, when they were supposed to be there. From arranging flights for the wrestlers, to organizing hotel accommodation for visiting board members, it was all Richard's responsibility.

Given his timid disposition, it was amazing the portly man got anything done at all. "Okay guys. Has everyone got their copy of the travel arrangements for the next month?" The general murmur of acknowledgement from the gathered superstars was all that Richard received in the way of replies.

Readjusting his glasses on the edge of his nose, he gave the appearance of being casual as he rested against an empty chair. "Just to give you a little feedback from the meeting with the Senior Members of the Management," Richard began with an audible trembling in his voice, not that anyone really noticed, "we've suffered a little bit of a downturn in terms of revenue coming in for this quarter. The management have decided that some more '_economical measures' _will need to be introduced over the next few weeks to ensure that this blip in revenue remains exactly that. A blip."

"Hold up, Richard. Is this your way of saying that we're being royally shafted on this tour?" The titter of laughter spread through the group of wrestlers at the sound of Ric Flair's voice. Viewed as the most senior of all wrestlers in the company, he was seen as something of the spokesperson for the talent. Indeed, if the wrestlers ever had their very own Union, it could be guaranteed that Ric Flair would be heading it.

Richard brushed his damp brow nervously. "N-not quite Ric. Some concessions will have to be made, obviously to ensure that -…"

"What kind of concessions?" Ric sighed. He'd been around the game long enough to concessions usually meant seven-dollar motel rooms with cockroaches and no running water. He could already picture half the superstars screaming like a bunch of girls at being denied their usual amenities. Hell, the kids today didn't have any idea of how tough it had been back in the day to promote a company. He survived week to week on twenty dollars and the grace of buxom women.

"Nothing really." Richard babbled, wringing a tissue between his hands. "The management has asked that you simply share rooms for the duration of the European tour. All will be booked in advance for you."

Houston delivered the last sentence at such a pace that he was surprised that anyone could actually make out what he had said. Indeed, even to his own ears it sounded as though every word had blended into one single syllable.

Richard watched fearfully as the penny dropped for the group of superstars. All across the room, cries broke out like: _"I ain't rooming with him, he farts like a fuckin' pig!"_, or _"I won't get any sleep sharing with Cena. He'll be fucking some ring slut all night long!" _

And in true John Cena fashion, he agreed the former statement. "What about sex? I can't be gettin' busy if I've got some random snorin' ass fucker in the bed next to me!"

Richard was rapidly losing control of the meeting as the shouts of outrage continued to escalate. Doing his best to regain control, he began reading out the list of rooms. "We've pre-booked your rooms, guys. These are your roommates for the follow tour. London and Kendrick, Dykstra and Nitro, Hunter and Shawn Michaels, Candice and Torrie, Ashley and Maria, Matt and Jeff, CM Punk and Rob Van Dam, Carlito and Lashley, Flair and Cena…"

Batista drowned out the conversation, more captivated by what Randy was doing to Shannon Moore. Even though the table blocked out whatever it was Randy was doing with his hand, it was clear from Shannon's panting that it was having a definite effect. Indeed, the thin sheet of sweat covering Shannon's brow was distracting Batista long enough that he almost missed his own name. "…Batista and Orton…"

Stopping cold, Batista felt his heart take a long jump from his chest to his throat. Had he heard correctly? He was supposed to room with Randy? There had to be some kind of mistake, surely. They couldn't expect him to room with Randy, could they? Randy never roomed with anyone for the specific reason that he would either bring some conquest back to his room, or end up turning his attentions on whoever it was he sharing with.

That single idea posed an even more dangerous question. What would happen if he was indeed stuck sharing with Randy, and he decided to start hitting on him? Would the young Legend Killer take no for an answer? Would Dave even want to say no? After all, he was viewing this trip to Europe as a chance to explore his sexuality. If it was being offered by Randy Orton on a plate, would it be right of him to turn it down?

_Of course it would! It's fucking Orton! _Feeling a childlike sense of terror growing in the pit of his stomach, Batista barely heard Richard as he ran through the remaining items of the agenda for the trip.

Across the room, Randy continued to smirk as though he had just won every Championship title in the company. This couldn't have gone any better even if he had planned it. He was going to be alone with Dave Batista in hotels for an entire month.

The possibilities were endless.


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: Sorry it's taken so long for an update. I think, deConstruction and I are back in the groove and we'll be getting more chapters out soon. _

_Thank you for all of your support so far. We hope you enjoy._

_**This chapter contains mild sexual content.**_

* * *

The Lies We Tell Ourselves

Family: the blessing and the curse. They love you, you hate them. They rejoice when they see you, you cringe when you're near them. They complete you, you tear them apart. They are proud of you, you rip them to shreds. The dichotomy played over in ears as soon as he heard the shower turn off.

Dave Batista rolled over in the king sized bed and closed his eyes tightly. He had been dreading this moment since his feet touched the perfectly manicured lawn in front of the sandstone house. The picturesque look of his home from the outside, the happy sound of laughter and smell of cookies baking on the inside, the smiling faces of his children and the warm hugs and kisses from his wife…everything was culminating toward this moment.

He had successfully convinced himself the entire flight that this time at home would be different. He only had to be there for two days; surely he could get through two days. Two days playing with his children, reading fairytales, learning about new dinosaurs, and maybe even looking at a sonogram picture or two. Two days grocery shopping, dropping the kids off at play dates, doing laundry, cooking dinner, watching Disney Channel and listening to his wife rattle off baby names. It wouldn't be that bad, after all it was only forty-eight hours.

Thirty-six hours ago, things had been better than he had hoped. As soon as he stepped in the door, he was greeted by the shrill shriek of Libby screaming, "Daddy!" Settling himself down on one knee he held his arms open and felt his daughter crash against his chest in a hug so tight that he faked a grunt of pain as her tiny arms squeezed his neck. He could feel the tears prick his eyes as he held her and buried his face in her Downy scented pink shirt.

Before he had a chance to pull back so that he could get a good look at his youngest, his son came bolting into him trapping him in a strong hug of his own. He stayed in that position, kneeling, holding his children close to him for what seemed like an eternity. In that moment, where just father and children bonded, there were no fears or expectations. He didn't worry about who he was outside of the role as their father. He didn't worry about breaking their hearts. Nor did he think about how conflicted or excited he was about his trip to come. He wasn't worried about rooming with Randy Orton or the possible discovery of his sexuality during his travels. No, in that moment, he wasn't Dave Batista, the newly gay man; he was just a father in love with his children. He was just Daddy. It was one of the few times he felt comfortable in his own skin.

It wasn't until he opened his teary eyes and let them settle on the long, shapely legs in front of him, did Dave feel the queasiness in his stomach return. His eyes raised higher to white shorts, pulled down low over a small pouched tummy, and blue tank top. Her hands rested on her hip and her weight shifted to her left leg. Ashe blonde hair hung over her shoulders and her face held a smirk and a twinkle in her green eyes. "Hey stranger." The soft, sultry whisper in Lorrie's voice, made Dave's mouth go dry and his pulse quicken in his temples.

Nick was the more perceptive of the two children and as soon as he caught a glimpse of his mother's face, he released his hold on Dave and helped him stand to his feet. Dave, still clutching Libby to his chest, took a deep breath and walked over to his wife. He should have wanted to kiss her or hold her, but he couldn't bring himself to initiate it. Instead, he extended his hand to the roundness of her stomach and smiled. "How are you?"

Almost smothering Libby between them, Lorrie hugged her husband tightly, rubbing her hand up and down his back. She missed him terribly and two days home was not enough. "I'm better now that you're here." Her breath caught in her throat as she tried to keep the tears at bay. "Come on, dinner's ready."

Dave wasn't sure that his heart had ever felt as heavy as it did that first night home. Eating with Libby on his lap and her arms still clutched tightly around the neck was difficult, but not more so than listening to Nick explain to him why Anakin Skywalker would win against Luke in a battle. It wasn't the conversation that was difficult; it was just simply watching his son.

Nick was so animated, unlike his father. He had inherited his flair of telling a story with his entire face from his mother, right down to the way his brows raised when he was excited. Listening to how opinionated he was, Dave knew that this child would never understand what he was going through. Nick would have to be stronger than any eight year old boy should have to be when Dave came out. He would take care of his mother and resent the hell out of his father in the end. That fun loving animated boy would never recover from the secret his father held. That would boy would turn into a hardened, bitter, young man right before Dave's eyes.

And then there was Libby, the little girl that would only lift her head from her father's chest long enough for her to take food off of the fork when he held it to her lips. Her quiet demeanor when she needed to reassured, she got from Dave. All his life, Dave, wanted someone to hold him and promise him everything would be alright; much like Libby needed him to do for her in that moment. She would be crushed to know that her sense of security was a lie. She would never understand how her Daddy could promise to always protect and turn into the person that would hurt her the most.

"Libby, honey, you really need to sit in your own chair." Lorrie looked almost jealous at the amount of affection between Dave and his daughter. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but he seemed so distant lately, more so than usual.

At first Lorrie feared that Dave wasn't happy that she was pregnant again. Five years ago, after Libby was born, they had decided they weren't going to have any more children. With Dave's line of work and his extensive traveling schedule, having another baby would put too much stress on Lorrie. And though this baby wasn't planned, Lorrie was excited about it. It didn't matter to her that she had to harbor the responsibility of raising their children by herself. Nicholas and Elizabeth were a part of Dave; they were the constant reminder of the perfect life that they shared. One more baby just added to what was already a fairytale for her. One more child proved to her how much he loved her.

Even if Dave seemed preoccupied, Lorrie knew that he loved his family desperately. It was written all over his face as she watched him from across the table. He looked just as in love with Libby as she was with him. And the way he never took his eyes off of Nick, so enthralled by his conversation…Dave was the best father any woman could ask for.

It must have been hard for him, Lorrie thought. Just off of an airplane, with little to no time to unwind, he had to divide his time between them all. She knew her children missed their father as much as she missed her husband and for that reason Lorrie wasn't going to be selfish. She would let her babies have their daddy during the day, but at night she would have her husband all to herself. This was silly. Dave still loved her, pregnant again, or not. And over the next 48 hours, he would remind her just how much.

"I don't wanna sit in my chair, Mommy. I wanna stay with Daddy." Libby buried her head further into Dave's chest and hugged him tighter. "I'm not letting him go."

The gesture sent another warm prickle of tears to the corner of his eyes. "Daddy's not going anywhere, Munchkin." Dave smoothed the hair on Libby's head and smiled at his wife.

"You're such a baby." Nick chimed in from across the table. "Daddy's gonna be here until Sunday." Truthfully, if he could have sat in his father's lap, clinging onto him for dear life, he would have. But Dave made Nick the man of the house in his absence and Nick took his responsibility seriously. Nick perfectly imitated the silent strength that his father possessed and he wouldn't do anything to disappoint. To Nick, men didn't need anything, they didn't cry. They were strong, and not clinging like whining little girls. Nick's father surely didn't cling onto anyone and neither would he.

If only Nick knew that his father just didn't have anyone to cling to, but he desperately wished that he did.

Shaking his head at Nick, Dave lifted Libby up so that her head rested on his shoulder. "Nick, don't tease your sister. Libby missed me, just like I missed you guys." Sneaking a glance at his wife, he noticed how her eyes lit up at his comment. "You know, I was kinda bumbed that you didn't wanna sit over here with us."

Nick stuck out his tongue. "I'm not a girl!" He said sharply, "Boys don't act like that." Already the gender rolls were clearly formed in Nick's young mind. God, what would that child think if he knew the truth? When his father came back a different man than he was before he left what would that do to his son? It was going to be harder to get on that plane to Europe than Dave thought.

But that was thirty-six hours ago. Now, the house was quiet. The children were asleep. With only ten hours until his plane took off, Dave felt his world closing in around him. Trying to slow his pulse, he only wished that Libby would demand to sleep with them again. She had saved him from performing his husbandly duties the night before and he had never been more grateful. Now, it looked like Dave's luck had run out.

He had successfully avoided his wife's advances all day, not for Lorrie's lack of trying. He just couldn't bring himself to be intimate with her. Every time they were alone, Lorrie let him know just how much she wanted him and it scared him to death. Dave had to grip the sides of the washing machine when Lorrie took it upon herself to stand behind him and rub her hand down his stomach. And when her hand traveled inside his shorts as he washed dishes, he closed his eyes like a child being violated. He could only use the excuse, 'What if the kids walk in?' so many times before she got suspicious.

But now there were no more excuses to be had, there was nowhere left to hide. He could smell the sent of her perfume as soon as the bathroom door opened. He had no choice but to roll over onto his stomach and pretend that he was asleep.

The shift of bed under Lorrie's weight made Dave's palms sweat. Even with his eyes closed, they still rolled from side to side in his head as he tried to figure out what to do. If he could have cried out he would have. If he thought having a headache would have deterred her, Dave would have prayed for a blinding migraine. But it wouldn't work. Nothing was going to stop Lorrie from being with him. He hadn't seen his wife in weeks, and in a few more hours he would be leaving her for even longer. How could he expect her not want to?

"Baby? Are you asleep?" Lorrie's voice was a whisper as her lips gently caressed the back of his neck. Her fingers slowly trailed down his spine while her perfectly painted toes moved up his calf.

Dave tried to deepen his breathing, almost to a snore, and lay completely still. Pushing his face deeper into his pillow, he felt his hands clinch into tight fists. Where was Libby? He knew they shouldn't have taken the kids out for a long drive and ice cream. A country drive almost always guaranteed that Libby would be out for the night. And hoping that Nick would want to sleep in their bed this night was a moot point. Not even the phone would ring. No one was going to save him. Dave Batista was at the mercy of his wife and there was nothing he could do about it.

Lorrie's hand on in the inside of the elastic band of his boxer briefs created a gentle tickle on Dave's skin. This is where the confusion always started. Being touched by Lorrie _was _pleasurable. She seemed to know exactly what it took to make his body react, whether his heart wanted it to or not. And when her tongue trailed down his spine, he squirmed under her touch, and fought the physical and emotional battle within himself. He loved the feeling of her touch, just not the touch of a woman. Why was this conflict still going on? Why didn't he just have the balls to tell her?

"Dave?" Lorrie's hand slipped further inside his shorts until she smoothed her hand over his firm backside. "Baby?" She wasn't going to give up. This was her last night with him and she wanted to show him exactly how much she had missed him. It wasn't like this was the first time that Dave had been gone for a long stretch and seemed disinterested in sex. She chalked it up to him getting acclimated to being at home again. And with his time at home being so short it wasn't uncommon for them to only be together once during his stay.

But that was one of the things she loved about him. Dave was not a man that was solely interested in her for sex. He wasn't one of those guys that she had dated in college that seemed to have had thousands of hands and tried everything they could to get her in bed. No. Lorrie's Dave was a gentleman.

After fifteen years of friendship and ten years of marriage, he still respected her as much as he did when they first met. He was still somewhat shy with regards to sex and they were always only together on her terms. He was extremely patient and concentrated heavily on making sure that every one of her needs was met. She'd even mused at times, the reason he was so intense was because he was trying to figure out if he was doing it right. As if he ever needed to worry about that. Dave was a lover like she had never known before.

But he _was_ concentrating. He was trying to make sure she enjoyed it because it made _him_ sick to his stomach.

Dave could almost feel Lorrie's disappointment as she laid beside him and touched her fingers to the length of his back. There had been nights before where this would happen and she just drift off to sleep. All he had to do was lie still and she would eventually turn over and doze off. But the guilt was overwhelming. How could he deny her the one thing that he knew she truly wanted from him? It wasn't like he was the world's best husband to begin with. Between being gone half the year and paying more attention to his children than to her when he was home, this was the least he could do. He had reduced what was supposed to be a beautiful experience with his wife to a cross he had to bear. Why did he let it get this far?

With a deep sigh, Dave rolled over onto his back and slowly opened his eyes. Lorrie's lips on his only elicited feelings of uneasiness in him. But he had done this enough times that he knew how to lie to himself that he was enjoying it and even convince Lorrie that he was, too.

He felt his hand being lifted and his fingers move down the front of her silky gown resting over the mound of her breast. "Maybe we shouldn't." Dave lifted his hand from Lorrie's chest and tucked a strand of ash blonde hair behind her ear. He was trying to spare her feelings. He was trying to get out of it because this was going to hurt her more than she knew and more than he ever meant to. But did she have to look at him like that?

Dave Batista already hated himself. He hated who he was. He hated that he didn't know how to be himself. He hated that he knew what he wanted but not how to get it. And now, he hated the fact that he was hurting the one person that had always been there for him. Why did it have to be so damn hard? She didn't deserve this; no one did.

Shaking her head, Lorrie touched her lips to his softly. "You always do this. This is our third baby. Do you remember how scared you were when I was pregnant with Libby?" She put her hand to his cheek thoughtfully and smiled. "We're fine. We can make love while I'm pregnant. You won't hurt us."

Not sleeping with her because she was with child was the last thing on his mind. He was worried about hurting her, but not because of the baby. He was worried about hurting her heart.

Swallowing hard, Dave leaned over and kissed his wife. He could do this by rote. He felt her kiss his neck and as he pulled up her night gown, his heart broke more. How could a man that promised to love a woman forever, make love to her under false pretenses? Wasn't making love supposed to be an expression of emotions and not to pacify?

In his reluctance he noticed that Lorrie had no problem taking the lead. As her mouth assaulted his skin, he absently stroked her hair while staring at the ceiling. He could do this. This would be the last time, though. He would never lie to her this way again. She was better than what he was giving her and as soon as he found out how to be himself, he would tell her the truth.

As his heart sank, Dave's nostrils flared and tears stung his eyes. Being pleasured by his wife was anything but pleasurable. It only brought him pain; it only showed him how much of a coward he really was. And though his heart was hurting, his body just felt numb. He couldn't understand it. How was it possible to have another person's mouth on him and he feel absolutely nothing? And when he did start to feel something, he wanted to push her head away and beg her to stop.

Of all the things he should have been thinking about: Lorrie's mouth stretched around him, the tickle of her hair on his thighs, the gentle massaging of her fingers, the slight moans that she made, he could only think about how it would feel to have a man with his mouth on him. What would it feel like to have another man inside of his own mouth? Would his jaws hurt, or would he choke? Would it feel foreign? Would he know what he was doing? The more he thought about it, the more excited he got.

Faking with Lorrie was something that Dave learned to do, but never once did he think about another man while doing it. There wasn't even one man in particular. It was all of them. It was Jeff Hardy's shoulders, Adam Copeland's blonde hair, John Cena's dimples, Randy Orton's blue eyes. It was everything else but his wife. He would almost classify himself as giddy at the prospect of knowing what it felt like to make love with a man. Just to feel hard muscles against his own, being involved in a slightly more aggressive approach to the act… The feeling of a stubbly jaw line grazing his collarbone and thick fingers groping his flesh…The idea made him more aroused than he had ever been before.

But his excitement came to a screeching halt when he felt Lorrie's moisture surround him. She was definitely a woman and there was no way that he could imagine someone else's body on his like he did earlier. Before, he could easily imagine Jeff Hardy or Adam Copeland's blonde hair bringing to the height of his arousal. But there was nothing he could do to substitute her now. Lorrie was a woman, there was no denying that.

Dave held onto her waist and closed his eyes tightly while she raped his emotions. Who was he kidding that he deserved happiness. He deserved ever bit of misery that he felt during sex with his wife. He was lying to her, denying who he was on the most basic level. He was getting his penance for being a fraud.

Did he really think he could just walk away and become someone new? This life was a lie, but it was the only life he had. Europe was a fantasy. What if being gay wasn't any easier then pretending not to be? What if he never found a man that could show him all of the things he longed to know? What if he never found love? More afraid of the family he would leave behind, was the fear that he would leave them behind for nothing. Maybe this was all there was, and what he felt and knew about himself shouldn't matter.

And when he opened his eyes and watched Lorrie move, he knew what had to be done. If he didn't take a stand, he would be trapped in this hell forever. He had to try. He had to know. Even if he failed he had to see what else was out there. The ridicule, the outburst, the turning of his friends, he would take all of that for one chance at happiness. But how was he going to find it? The answer hit him as soon as his release did.

He afforded himself plenty of time to work through his plan as he showered. As the warm washed away the feelings of shame and guilt from his evening with his wife, everything unfolded with such clarity in his mind. All that he wanted was within his grasp, Dave just needed to reach out and grab it.

The only semi-gay person he knew was Randy Orton. And Randy really wasn't the type of guy that Dave could see himself asking for advice. He wasn't the type to offer any either. Randy didn't do anything unless there was personal gain in it for him.

But, what if Dave took a chapter from Randy's book and dangled something in front of him until he got what he wanted? It had to be done carefully, or it would blow up in his face. This was dangerous and tricky, but it had to be done. He wasn't entirely confident that he could even tempt Randy at all. After all, what would someone with Randy Orton's reputation want with someone like him? He was a repressed coward who so far had refused to come out of the closet, and had no clue as to what it meant to be with another man. Could he really entice Randy? Was he arrogant enough to believe that he could?

Dave wasn't into games, and the idea of trying to manipulate someone made him uneasy. But what was the alternative? Spend the rest of his life trapped in a prison of his own creation? No. There was no way he could survive this torment anymore. If Dave was ever to truly accept himself and become the person who longed to be, he would have to use himself by any means necessary.

Randy was going to be Dave's tour guide on his road to self discovery, whether he wanted to or not. And if Dave had to sacrifice himself to have that happen, he would deal with it. He had had detached, meaningless, unfulfilling sex with his wife for years. What would one more time with Randy Orton matter? The more he thought about it, the more Dave knew it didn't.

Randy Orton would be a means to an end.


	7. Chapter 7

The Lies We Tell Ourselves

_Have the British ever heard of sunshine? God damn miserable bastards._

Randy growled angrily to himself as he stepped out of his car into an ankle-deep puddle of rain water. Grabbing the material of his pants, he made an effort to lift them out of the water as he stepped up onto the curb, not that it made much difference. All he received for his efforts were saturated socks and water dripping into his expensive Italian shoes.

Grumbling obscenities, Randy shrugged his leather jacket onto his shoulders, fumbling with the zipper at the chest. High over ahead, thunder rumbled like a distant train. The sound seemed to shake free even more rain, as the down-pour continued in earnest. Who ever had booked the European trip for this time of year was going to get their ass kicked. As soon as he was dry, Randy fully intended on drop-kicking their ass out of the highest window in the hotel and let them take a dive in one of lake-like puddles on the street. That was assuming he wasn't drowned in the rain first.

Shuddering as water dripped down his neck, he hurried to the back of his silver rental car, ripping the trunk open. It had taken hours to get to the hotel, mostly because he had no clue where he was going. And of course, no one really spoke to him much so it wasn't as though anyone would give him directions.

Grabbing his bags, he hauled them out and swung them onto the curb. He glanced toward the hotel, and finally managed to lock the vehicle. A bellboy emerged from the building, finally deciding to brave the wet, cold London afternoon and actually do his job. Hands on his hips, a pile of bags at his feet, Orton simply glared as the royal blue jacket wearing hotel employee stationed just underneath the canopy of the hotel. Rain dispersed the hair gel in Randy's short brown spikes, sending trails of thick glue like liquid running in rivulets over his sculpted facial features. The bellboy didn't seem to notice Randy's volatile mood. Rather, he simply motioned Randy closer.

Anger bubbled in the pit of his stomach. Shoving his hands into his pockets, Randy marched forward, taking the few stone steps two at a time. Towering over the hotel employee, Randy aggressively suggested that he go fetch the bags before they got anymore wet. Shoving past the doorman, he finally made his way through the glass doors and into the hotel as the bellboy braved the elements to retrieve the bags.

He pulled his hands free of his pockets and ran both palms over his face. Moving from his chin to his forehead, long fingers brushed back through his hair. Unzipping his coat, he peeled it off, already knowing the water had gotten to his clothes. His pale blue shirt was soaked across the chest and further onto the stomach. The material clung to his body, feeling clammy and uncomfortable. Not to mention his jeans, which were welded to his thighs like a second skin.

Grumbling to himself, Randy wondered if his day could get any worse. That was until he noticed several female hotel workers practically drooling as they watched him. A cute blonde standing with mop and a bucket was particularly fascinated, obviously unable to decide whether or not to look at Randy's face or his wet shirt.

Randy winked in her direction, absently running a hand down his rock hard abdomen. She seemed to squeak, lowering her eyes back to her job, realizing too late she hadn't squeezed the excess moisture from the mop. As she lifted it from the bucket, a wave of water cascaded out across the floor. She flushed red, mostly from the own actions but also due to Randy's sympathetic stare.

Chuckling to himself he crossed the lobby, dodging the indoor puddle to reach the desk. A particularly snooty worker seemed less than impressed with his appearance, clucking about being late for check in.

Laying on the charm, Orton managed to chip away at the glacial attitude he received, until the receptionist seemed fairly friendly. It was a skill, Randy deduced, being able to get practically anyone to do anything he wanted. And it didn't always have to be a sexual request. People just gravitated towards him, and it didn't take that much effort to get them eating out of the palm of his hand. Men, women and children - age and sexuality didn't matter. They all went weak at the knees when it came to Randy Orton.

Still busily congratulating himself on his charm, Randy blinked when he realized the receptionist had spoken to him again. "Sorry, what?"

"I said sir that the other occupant of the room has already arrived. Should I make a telephone to call to let them know you have now checked in and will be making your way upstairs?"

Randy's mind ticked over the possibilities. Dave was already there. With the element of surprise on his side, there was no telling what Randy could catch Dave in the middle of. Obviously, the pervert in him wanted to catch Dave in the middle of a quick self-serving hand job - or maybe just emerging from the shower. Grinning at the thought, Randy told the receptionist the call wasn't necessary. If Randy was ever going to have his wicked way with Dave Batista, the element of surprise would be crucial.

Looking over the bellboy who staggered in with all his bags, Randy nodded towards the elevator. He was already having far too much fun, and he hadn't even seen Dave yet.

The room sat relatively quiet, save for the sound of toiletries being placed on the wooden dresser. Cream colored walls held no real emotion, but did give the space a peaceful feeling. A random replica of Seurat's _Sunday Afternoon on the Island of la Grande Jatte_ hung in the middle of the wall distracting the eye from the neutral tones that were chosen.

Directly below the painting on either side were two beds, both with matching mauve and cream comforters that played off of the colored walls and the bodices of the women in the painting. A television stand stood by the bed nearest the window, while the bathroom was closest to the other bed. The room guaranteed that if either occupant needed to relieve themselves or find entertainment, they would indeed have to cross into their companion's space to do so.

Dave Batista's eyes drifted back to the beds. Two beds. Two double sized beds for two men that were well over six feet tall and two hundred pounds. Two beds that were entirely too close to each other in the small room. When he laid down to sleep, the only thing that would separate him from Randy Orton would be the polished cherry wood night table with the room's only lamp on top of it.

If he were sharing this space with anyone else more than likely he would have thought it to be cozy. The idea of brushing hands with someone in the darkness while they both reached for the lamp was just the kind of thing that his innocent gay fantasies consisted of. But knowing that it could actually become a reality with Randy Orton? Dave wasn't so sure that this was such a good idea.

Lost in thought, he peered back into the brown and gold Louis Vatton bag and removed a white t-shirt. Not that he was aware of the action. He was too deep in thought, too suppressed in his own mind to pay attention to anything else but the plan that he had started to formulate.

It had taken eighteen hours to get from Tampa to London. Seventeen of which consisted of tuning out other passengers on the plane. Forty minutes was spent absently signing autographs in the airport and in the twenty minute taxi ride to the hotel he figured out that he had no idea how in the hell he was supposed to seduce Randy into helping him. And the more he thought about it, he wasn't so sure that he even wanted to anymore.

Dave wanted to explore what it was that he was feeling, but at the price of depending on Orton? Orton? He wasn't positive that he could even share the same space with the man, let alone rely on him for help. This was wrong. This was a nightmare waiting to happen. This whole idea was going to blow up in his face. And as soon as dared a glance in the mirror, he happened upon the figure of the man dressed in blue jeans and a black leather jacket watching him, he felt nauseous.

Randy Orton had been silently watching the larger man standing before him. There was a slow robotic rhythm to each movement he made. A ninety degree pivot then a slight bend at the waist, retrieve one item, hold it in the air, fold said item, pivot toward the original direction, place the item in a pile on the dresser, presumably to eventually place them in the drawer. There was an absent grace to his movements. His thick arms flexing each time he creased a garment, the way he held the folded items to his chest and smoothed them out, it was delicious. Then there was the careful way he placed all of his clothing in a neat little pile making sure they were all folded to the same size. Was he really that anal that all of his clothes had to fit into one dresser drawer?

Anal. The thought made Randy smile.

Dave was meticulous, so unlike him who probably wouldn't even unpack his suitcase. Randy stood there transfixed by the movements wondering just how and when he would be able to make Dave lose control long enough to get what he wanted. It wasn't enough to get him drunk and have a quick fumble - anyone could do that. Hell, he'd done that with half the roster. No, the trick would be to make the larger man fall for him to the point where he _wanted_ Randy.

The smile eased its way onto his face before he realized it was there. Grabbing his suitcase, he pulled it in behind him, slinging it onto the bed. It connected with a loud thud, bouncing on the mattress before coming to a complete halt.

Sauntering into the room, Randy dropped the carry on to the floor before perching himself on the corner of Dave's bed. He watched as Dave fixed his lips as if to say something, but before words could formulate Randy had already reached into the big man's suitcase. It was pure ironic luck that he grabbed a pair of Dave's boxer shorts. Hooking a thumb into the waist band, he made a show stretching the material, both crystal blue eyes resting on his roommate's face for a reaction.

If Randy Orton were a man who felt guilt, he would probably have a twinge now as Batista looked like a deer caught in headlights. Randy softly nipped his bottom lip between his teeth at Dave's discomfort. His hand freed itself from the waist band, only to trace down the front of the underwear. Eyes fixed on Dave's face, Randy slowly began fondling the pouch of the boxer shorts. Randy would be lying if he said he wasn't fantasizing about Dave's actual manhood filling it, but for the time being, this was all about Dave. He'd let him know just how exciting the idea of seeing the champion in his skeevies was later.

Chuckling, Randy balled the underwear in his hand and tossed it at Dave. It bounced off his chest, and fell to the floor. As though it were a delayed reaction, Dave's hand touched the place on his chest were the boxers had hit.

"Hey roomie." Randy purred, shrugging out of his leather jacket. His shirt was still damp and clung deliciously to his hard pecs. Dave had flushed a deep fuchsia, eyes looking anywhere other than Randy.

Slowly standing from the bed, Randy began to unbutton his shirt. Taking each button between his thumb and forefinger, he undid each one in turn. Both ice blue eyes rested on the mirror as soon as Dave turned around. He remained calm, knowing fully well this was just a waiting game. He could wait Dave out. If Randy was good at anything other than the obvious sexual magnetism, it was manipulation. He would have Dave begging soon enough. It was just a case of patience. And contrary to popular belief, Randy could be the most patient man in the world.

Dave started placing his clothes neatly into the drawer fully aware that Randy was making a fool of him. But there was a part of him that was thrilled at the obvious game of cat and mouse. Dave reminded himself that Randy had a reputation. If he was going to survive the next few months of the tour, it was essential that he learned how to use it to his advantage.

The larger man realized it was a mistake to look up a second after he done it. His eyes rested on the mirror before him, catching the reflected gaze of Randy standing inches behind him with his shirt unbuttoned entirely. The sides of the pale blue material hung loosely about his torso, hinting that the muscles that were hidden beneath. "What are you doing?" Though he knew full well what Randy was doing he refused to believe it. He hadn't been in the room five minutes and already the nightmare was starting.

As soon as Randy was sure he had his roommates undivided attention, he smiled.

With a gentle shrugging motion, his shirt melted from his body, the material gliding down over his arms to fully expose his body. Tilting his head to the side, Randy pouted softly. "I'm all wet."

Swallowing his heart back into his chest, Dave forced his eyes down, but was powerless to stop them lifting to see Randy's hands playing with his belt buckle. In a deliberately slow movement, the young legend killer had removed his belt, sliding the leather from around his waist and tossing it onto his bed. Wetting his lips, Dave felt his chest rise and fall at an even faster pace than before. It wasn't so much the sight of Randy's naked torso that tortured him, as delicious a sight as that was. It was the feeling he was teetering on the edge of self-discovery. Everything he had secretly dared to dream about despite his fear of discovery and neurosis of a 'normal' life was apparently right in front of him. All he had to do was stretch out his hand and take it. But he couldn't. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. He wasn't giving himself to Randy without getting something in return.

Was it wrong for him to want to use Randy as a stepping stone to self discovery? Probably. But Randy Orton had done far worse in his twenty-six years, and he personified the egotistical 'means to and end' rule. Even if there was some kind of irony to the whole situation, Dave decided that what he would get out of Randy was more valuable than Randy's feelings of being used.

But he wasn't a man without compassion. He would spare Randy's emotions as much as he could. But now more than ever, Dave's mind was made up. He was making the right decision. And it was a decision for himself. And maybe if he played his cards right Randy would be on the receiving end of what he so readily dished out.

Randy's hands rested easily on the button of his jeans. In a swift motion he undid it, exposing flesh Dave had no business seeing. With a smirk, he took a step forward. And another. Suddenly, he was right behind Dave, his naked chest pressed against Dave's back. For his part, Batista's entire body went stiff. His muscles clenched to stone, his spine feeling like a steel rod prostrating his back. His earlier resolve melted away in an instant. This was far too much, too soon. _What is Randy doing?_

Randy picked up on the tension gripping Dave's body and smirked knowingly at the big man's reflection in the mirror. There was a look of terror in his eyes, which Randy relished in.

There was nothing better than a straight man feeling violated.

Sliding his arm around Dave's waist, Randy feigned embracing the larger man from behind. Just when it looked as though his palm was going to rest on the flat of Dave's stomach, it stretched forward. Grasping the bottle of shampoo off the dresser, Randy nudged his chin onto Batista's shoulder. "Mind if I steal this?"

Mutely, Dave shook his head, his body overcome with sensation. Smiling, Randy released his roommate and moved away. Randy's breath on his neck sent a chill through Dave's entire body. Looking into those blue eyes through the mirror he got a glimpse of the power that Randy Orton held. It didn't have a name or even a description, but it was there. _Something_ was definitely there. It had to be because Randy repulsed Dave, but for that brief moment, he felt like he was floating. The air felt thick in his wake, and Dave had to rest his hands on the dresser in order to regain his composure. This was going to be harder than he thought.

"Don't go too far man. I may need your help to get those hard to reach areas." Randy stopped at the bathroom door, glancing back into the room at Dave. "Isn't it great having a roommate, roommate?" With a chuckle, Randy headed into the bathroom not bothering to check the horrified expression he was sure was covering Dave's features. He'd gotten close to the big man without him lashing out. Maybe this was going to be easier than Randy had originally anticipated. Or maybe he was just that damn good. Either way, Randy was looking forward to just how much of an animal David Batista could be.

In a haste Dave grabbed his jacket and card key. He would deal with unpacking later, but for now he had to get out of that room. It was overwhelming. Randy was too much. The room was too small. The sound of Randy singing in the shower was too vivid. The thought of him being naked just a few feet away was too surreal. Dave had to get as far away from Randy Orton as possible.

But apparently it wasn't far enough.

Two hours had clearly been enough time for Randy to have left the room set to party for the night. The entire time Dave spent in the hotel's restaurant he had watched the front door for any signs of his _roommate_ to exit the building. But in the time he sat there not a hide nor hair of Orton had been spotted. _Maybe he went to sleep._

God if it would have only been that simple.

"Fucking hell." A shrill Cockney accent sounded from inside the room as a blonde woman pulled her head from Orton's lap. Desperately trying to wipe her mouth, but only succeeding in smearing her lipstick further around her face, she released Randy from her hand.

This couldn't have worked out better had he planned it. When Randy had emerged from the shower he was disappointed that Dave was no longer in the room. It took him all of two minutes to strategically place the towel to hang low on his hips and saunter out of the bathroom. But the show of getting dressed in front of Dave that he had worked on in the shower had been for naught. The room was empty and judging from the way that Dave's items were exactly had they had been before, Dave had left in a hurry.

And not being one to let a perfectly, good, empty hotel room go to waste, Randy decided to seize the opportunity. That brief encounter with Dave at the dresser had ignited something in his gut. If he couldn't get Dave to extinguish it, surely the cute blonde with the mop and bucket from the lobby earlier could. It didn't even take much convincing.

Randy's cool eyes stared directly at Dave without blinking. Stroking the blonde hair of the woman kneeling in front of him, he addressed her. "It's okay, Sweetheart." Only dropping his eyes for a brief second, he caught a glimpse of the look she gave him. The last thing he wanted was to hear her annoying voice again, especially since she hadn't even finished the job that she had started. The best way to shut her up was to make sure that she had her mouth full. Taking himself in his hand, he began to tap the head against her lips. "He doesn't mind. Do ya Dave?" His eyes connected with Dave's and a gentle hiss touched his voice as soon as he got what he wanted.

"Not on my bed." Dave's voice remained calm yet stern as he tried not to look as disgusted by the display in front of him as he actually was. It wasn't as if Dave had never witnessed his any of the guys hooking up with a groupie of sorts before. But to have the audacity to be on _his_ bed, staring directly at him?

Pulling the woman's head back by her hair, Randy's eyes never left Dave's. A slow smirk danced across his features as he stood, pants falling to pool around his ankles and plopped himself down on his own bed. "Not a problem." Stroking himself he raised his brow at the blonde and motioned her over to his new location. It was only a minute before his heavily lidded eyes watched Dave as he walked further into the room.

Dave suppressed his nerves and started toward the bathroom which was located right next to Randy and his companion. Slamming the door behind him, he placed both hands on the sink and tried to catch his breath. It was only the first day. How in the hell was he supposed to survive this?

This plan of his needed to be revamped immediately.


	8. Chapter 8

The Lies We Tell Ourselves

It seemed like it took forever for sleep to wash over him. For hours Dave Batista had sat on his bed with his back against the wall unable to do anything, but stare into nothing. It was more than the jetlag, more than the dreaded wake up call…it was _him. _Randy Orton. The reason that Dave couldn't sleep was courtesy of the man that the company had so graciously forced him to room with.

It was bad enough that Dave spent half of the night wondering what he was going to do with his plan. Randy Orton had proven to be way out of Dave's league as far as manipulation was concerned. There were so many variables to consider. Like, how to get Randy to stop acting like _Randy_ long enough to help him? What was he willing to sacrifice in order to enlist Randy for help? And how much about himself was he going to share with his _roommate? _

Dave was sure that Randy couldn't be as vulgar as he appeared. It had to be all an act. He was positive that there had to be more to the man than what he had witnessed in the ten hours that they had roomed together. There was so much to figure out, but it proved impossible listening to Randy and his shrill voiced guest as they went at it…for hours…in the bed, right next to him. Given the room's close proximity, Dave couldn't avoid seeing, hearing, and smelling everything that went on beside him.

Dave couldn't figure out why the maid was so into Orton. Randy was a disgusting little man, really. One that grunted and shouted out the most vulgar of obscenities at the most inappropriate times. How Dave ever thought that Randy could show him _anything_ was beyond him. After the display Randy had put on, Dave was sure that Randy couldn't even show him where the bathroom was.

But Dave would be lying if didn't admit that there was something about Orton. There had to be because that woman could not get enough of him. Dave had gotten the same vibe from her that he had gotten from Shannon Moore. People that seemed repulsed by Randy normally somehow gave into him. It was as if Randy had them under a spell, if that was even possible.

It had to be pure animal magnetism. What else could explain it? Either Randy was poetic and gentlemanly before he lured his victims to his room, or he was _really _generous in bed. Listening to them, Dave was willing to bet the latter. Either way, Randy possessed something that men and women alike couldn't seem to resist. _That_ is what he needed Randy for. _That_ is what he wanted to learn. Not how to use people and throw them away, but how to be comfortable with who he was to the point that he could share that with someone else.

Dave didn't want escapades, he just needed to get his foot in the door. What he needed an introduction to the gay community and he would eventually figure out how to chart his own course. Of course, while he listened to Orton in the bed beside him, Dave wasn't so sure that Randy was even somewhat gay anymore.

If he didn't know better, Dave would have thought that Orton wanted Dave to question what he was all about. It was almost like he wanted Dave to notice him. But why? Randy should have been completely occupied by the woman in his bed. What did Dave being in the room do for him? What was the point?

Dave was trying to figure that out when Randy's underwear contacted with the side of his face. The television had been on mute and Dave was sitting quietly on his bed looking at it. He didn't know what was happening on the show, he was too busy thinking about Randy's MO and what he was going to say to Lorrie when she called.

Lorrie. That was another problem. With the time change, he knew that she wouldn't have one of the children call to make sure that he was awake. No. He wouldn't be greeted by the sounds of their happy voices to take off some of the pressure of eventually having to talk to her. Instead, they would probably be tucked safely in their beds while their mother stayed up later than she normally would have to call him. And why wouldn't she? He was her life. Everything in her world revolved around him.

She knew that he had always awoken at five in the morning to jog and exercise. That wouldn't change because he was in Europe. If only she knew the reason that he had always gotten up that early was because he didn't want to stay in bed with her any longer than he had to. The idea of waking up with her like normal couples sparked an unnatural, child like fear in the pit of his stomach that was hard to quell.

While his brain ran through the thought of the call and his stomach churned at the idea of being in bed with her, Dave felt something slap his face. When he looked in his lap and saw Randy's bikini underwear lying on his blanket, all he could do was turn hard eyes on the man in the bed next to him.

"Turn the fucking TV off." Randy's voice was muffled by the giggle that escaped the blonde and then by Randy's tongue invading her throat. "It's distracting."

This was a joke, right? Was this really what the next couple of months were going to be like? And how in the hell much stamina did Randy actually have? Didn't he ever get tired? And what the hell did he mean the television was distracting _him_? For hours Dave had been listening to the two of them, and didn't say a word, he never complained once, no matter how uncomfortable he was. Yet, Randy was pissed about the fucking television?

There wasn't any point in arguing, especially since Dave was so shocked that he couldn't think of anything to say. Instead, he did it. He turned the television off. There was no longer anything to distract him from what Randy was doing. In the dark he had to listen to the bed squeak, and the night table slowly inch closer to Dave's side of the room as Randy's hand pushed against it for leverage. He had to listen to that sound of flesh slapping and that squishy wet sound that he wasn't really sure what caused it. In the dark, everything was amplified. It was worse than having sex with his wife.

It didn't last forever, though. The gods truly smiled on Dave when Randy's guest finally said she had to leave and Dave couldn't have been happier. At least with her gone, Randy would finally go to sleep and then maybe Dave could think. Randy had to have been exhausted. And apparently he was, because when he drifted off, he started to snore.

It was like listening to a bulldozer. How was Dave supposed to psyche himself up to talk to his wife with Randy buzzing away in the bed beside him? Didn't Orton realize that in a matter of minutes Dave would deal with the most torturous five minutes of day? There were so many things that he needed to prepare for, like how to answer questions as vaguely as possible and how to make his voice sound unaffected when he talked to her. How was he supposed to get ready? There wasn't enough time now.

And then it happened. His cell phone's screen lit up the darken room and Dave felt his palms start to sweat. But he didn't lose his composure. Instead, he did what he always did. He held his breath, clinched his fists, swallowed hard so not to throw up and answered the phone.

He talked to Lorrie in as few words as he could muster. He made sure to ask about the kids and the baby growing inside of her. Then he listened. He listened painfully as she told him that she was missing him terribly. He felt his heart sink when she reminded him that their wedding anniversary was just a few days away and she wished that he could be home for it. He could feel the sweat forming on his brow and his eyes dart nervously when she threatened to find a babysitter so that she could fly to Europe to spend a week with him for that occasion. How was he supposed to respond to that? He didn't want her there, not when he was destined to find out what the life that he wanted was all about. This was his escape from the lie that he created. He needed this for himself.

There was no end in sight to the torture. The display on the phone read seven minutes into the conversation. He should have hung up two minutes ago. There were no lunches to be packed, no kids to get the school bus or work meetings that she needed to leave for. There was nothing to get her off of the phone and it scared him to death.

But there was Randy. "Shut up!" He bellowed from his pillow across the room. He was irritated at what was going on. It wasn't the timber of Dave's voice that bothered him; _that _was actually nice. It was the conversation that Randy didn't want to listen to. The knowledge that Dave had someone waiting for him at home was threatening to fuck up his plan of having him for himself. Randy was tired, he wanted to sleep and the last thing he needed was to have to think about how he was going to get what he wanted. He'd deal with that later on.

"Yeah, the room's pretty small. Orton's a light sleeper." He closed his eyes and prayed that that would be enough to get her off the phone. And when she agreed to let him go, it was all he could do not to smile. "Good night." He said quietly.

"Have a good day. I love you." Lorrie concluded, listening patiently as he mumbled his affections to her.

And now it was quiet. Randy wasn't having sex and his snoring was no longer an issue. Dave had talked to his wife and his anxiety level had dropped. Finally the fatigue, the change in time zones, the long flight, and the uneasy curiosity of Randy's body being pressed against his at the dresser, the sideways glances of Randy moving against the blonde that shared their room for a few hours…all of it was fading away as sleep started to cloak his body. Dave was finally comfortable in the small bed that he laid on and he felt himself start to drift.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The sunlight creeping into the room landed on Dave's side. It provided just enough light to bask his body in its warm glow and transfix Randy's eyes on his sleeping form. He really was a beautiful man. His body was like rock hard steel. He had the most delicious full body tan. His hands were huge and neatly manicured. Even the way he slept, on his side with one arm under the pillow and the other on top of it, Dave Batista was graceful. He was different than _The Animal_ that he was in the ring. But Randy knew that was just an act.

He was willing to bet that Dave was an animal in bed, too. Anyone that damn quiet and brooding had to be buck-wild when he let his guard down. But what would it take? What would make him step out of that comfort zone?

Looking at the larger man lie in his bed made something stir in Orton. Would Dave look that peaceful the morning after? Was he the cuddly type? Would he try to wedge Randy's body between those huge arms and hold on to him for dear life, like he was doing that pillow? Not that Randy was that excited by the prospect; he had never been one for morning after cuddles, but the thought of feeling those arms wrapped him was quite intriguing. If nothing else, he'd never been held before. Normally, he was the one doing the holding. Curiosity got the better of him as his eyes took in every curve and dip of the Animal's arms.

A devilish smirk crossed his lips as he let his hand trail under the sheet that draped his waist. There was nothing quite like the first nut of the day. Even though he had several just a few short hours ago, they hadn't been caused by his intended target. If he were honest, that blonde hadn't been all that great. But being with the maid was a test of sorts for Dave. Randy was feeling out what kind of guy he was. He'd employed the same trick on Ken Kennedy and it worked. It was fun for Randy to see how much it took to make another man give into his carnal desires. The age old lure of a threesome. Randy had more potent weapons in his arsenal, seeing as how this one didn't work.

Even trickery was acceptable, especially if it meant Randy eventually got what he wanted. Manipulation never failed for Randy, and even by his own standards, he had become more than a master of it.

It was because of that mastery that he understood why Dave didn't bite. He wasn't that kind of guy. Maybe he actually took that marriage, and family shit seriously. Not that Randy really cared. All it meant to him was that he would have work a little harder. There had to be an angle… an in. And Orton was going to find it. It was only a matter of time.

He felt his lids grow heavy as his hand met the bottom of his pelvis and then tugged its way back up the hardened muscle. The hem of Dave's shorts had ridden up, leaving his thighs to peek out from under his blanket and tease Randy. Those thighs, the power they held, the way they flexed when Dave moved changed position to lie on his back, forced Orton to lick his lips. He couldn't help but to wonder what Dave's thighs would feel like wrapped around his waist.

Watching Dave's chest and stomach through the material of his undershirt as he slept was enough to make Randy's breathing increase. His hand felt good, but not half as good as he was sure Dave's hands would feel. The size of those hands alone could cause a vice grip that Randy was sure would make his knees buckle. And that stomach. The six pack to end all six packs. To watch it quiver as Randy sank deeper and deeper into him. And his chest…to see sweat and eventually his jizz drip from the elevated muscles to the deep caverns between them, it was enough to make Orton call out Dave's name.

Dave was hovering somewhere between drifting and actual sleep but he was still conscious enough to hear Randy panting. Was he having a nightmare? After the night he had put him through, it would serve him right. But then he faintly heard his name.

Opening his eyes into slits, he happened upon the sight of Randy Orton, covers kicked off to the floor, one hand tugging on his length, the other cupping himself from underneath. _Dear God. Does he ever stop? _He should have shut his eyes tightly and prayed to block the image, but he couldn't. There it was again. Whatever _it_ was that Randy had, there it was staring Dave in the face and sliding between Randy's fingers at the same time.

"Dave…" Randy panted again, smiling at those brown eyes watching him. He could fake sleep all he wanted to, but Randy knew the truth. He knew Batista was watching him. And why wouldn't he? Randy was beautiful and he knew it. No one could resist seeing him in all of that beauty. His body was like a sculpture. He was blessed with sexual prowess and the equipment to please. He was good at what he did and more than that, he made it look like an art form. Dave was enjoying watching him just as much as Randy was enjoying performing for him. "Dave!" He got louder on purpose for effect, and to make sure that Dave knew it was him that he was thinking of.

Dave's eyes opened wider when Randy exploded in his hand with a shutter and a moan. His back arched off the bed, exposing his own six pack to full effect. The way Orton muscles clinched and the then the way rolled on his side still firmly gripping himself in his hand as the last waves escaped him, he looked almost child like when he finally settled.

And as beautiful as Randy looked, Dave couln't think about that. All he wanted to know was what had Randy been thinking about when he called his name? Had Randy actually thinking about _him_ while masturbating? What did Orton see him doing? Did he know? Was he just doing that to torment him and to scare him to death? If he was, he had successfully completed his mission.

With a smile Randy raised his hand to his mouth and licked the taste of himself off of his thumb. He never once let his eyes leave Dave's. He shrugged his shoulders and kicked his leg over the side of the bed, stood and stretched naked in Dave's line of vision. "Was that good for you, too?"

That innocent smile, that knowing gaze sent shivers dancing down Dave's spine. Of course Randy knew what he was doing. As far as he could tell, Orton didn't suspect anything pertaining to his own sexuality. Rather he was simply having fun at his expense just because he could.

Randy continued to stand there, gazing down at Dave with that same self-satisfied expression. The way he rested his hands on his hips so neatly, and then ever so slightly thrusting those same hips forward, which brought undivided attention to his groin. Licking his lips, Dave looked from the softening manhood to gaze into Randy's cerulean blue eyes. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to say anything, but luckily enough Randy was more than ready to do the talking.

"I needed a focal point. Thanks, Man. I'll be sure to room with you again." Reaching over, Randy patted the startled Batista on his bulky shoulder before turning around.

Bending over, the perfect smooth globes of his ass hung in the air, directly before Dave's face. Those two rounds of man-flesh suddenly looked more inviting to Dave than just about anything else had in his entire life. Maybe it was the situation hypnotizing him into a sense of safety, but for the first time the thought of becoming physical with another man presented itself to him. And it seemed like a damn good idea.

The thought was fleeting, but more than all consuming. Dave could just imagine himself extending one hand to touch that beautiful ass, to cup the globe of flesh and feel its muscle give under the pressure of his probing fingers.

As quickly as the seductive thought tempted him, it was gone when Randy finally stood up. He had slipped the sweat pants over his feet and now had them hanging loosely on his perfectly sculpted waist. Sliding a pair of tennis shoes over his bare feet, he padded across the carpet towards the door. Turning back into the room, his hand scratched carefully at his chest. "Sex always makes me hungry. You want something?" Dave shook his head mutely. Shrugging his shoulders, Randy slipped bare chested out of the room.

Batista knew in an instant that he had no way of getting back in because his key card still rested on the dresser closest to the wall. No doubt he would be pummeling his fist against the door soon, demanding to be let back in.

Sinking back into the bed, Dave entertained the idea of Randy. He wasn't in the least surprised he could be getting off thinking about him one moment, and then ask him if he wanted something to eat. That switch from sex god to 'one of the boys' was as infuriating as it was predictable. If anything, Randy Orton was amoral. He was simply out to have a good time and get what he wanted. More than ever, Dave questioned whether he had made the wrong choice in enlisting his help.

Orton may have oozed self confidence and been the person to initiate him into the gay world, but Dave couldn't shake the nagging feeling there would be a price. Randy never did anything if it didn't benefit himself in some way.

And yet, Dave could no longer deny the lure that Randy Orton presented. Even now, he could picture his semi-naked body with perfect clarity. The way his biceps would undoubtedly tense and curl as his fist slammed against the door to be allowed back into the room. In his mind he could still see the perfectly cut torso, the thin sheen of sweat glistening over those perfect abs like morning dew while he was in bed. Even the way the other man bit down slightly on his lips as he came so close to climaxing had invaded Dave's conscious.

Suddenly the face of Randy loomed over him. The look of concentration and ecstasy, mixed with an animal magnetism hung almost within reach above his head. Dave wanted to feel Randy's body against his own, to feel himself wrapped between those long legs and feel those pouting lips burning against his neck.

And Randy's manhood? Dave had always been slightly worried about what he would do if he were ever confronted with another man's erection. But now he wanted nothing more that to feel Randy's length in his hands and even his mouth. Dave wasn't entirely sure he would be any good at giving oral pleasure to another man, but he was more than willing to try. To taste another man's sex in his mouth awoke a deep, burning passion inside him that scared him.

Immediately realizing what it was he was thinking, Dave found himself snapped back to all his senses. More than that, the sudden snap of reality made him sit up straight in bed. In doing so he finally became painfully aware of the enormous erection he had. The hard column of flesh jutted up beneath the hotel bed sheets, its tip pushing insistently against his stomach, begging for delicious relief. Looking down at his engorged manhood through his shorts, Dave felt ashamed.

How long had he been like that? What had caused the physical manifestation of his arousal? Was it when Randy had gotten himself off by thinking about him? Did Orton see him hard? Or maybe it was fantasizing about his roommate that had done it. Yes, that had to be it.

Not that it really mattered now. However it got there, his manhood throbbed uncomfortably hard between his legs, demanding attention.

Sinking back against the pillows, Dave was transfixed by the sight of it. What was he supposed to do? Touch himself? Bring himself to orgasm? He was frightened of his own arousal, because he knew what had caused it.

Randy Orton.

Even as he imagined the name, he felt his own hand sliding down over his stomach and beneath the sheets. The tips of his fingers were now dangerously close to his erection and Dave shuddered; out of fear as much as excitement. Powerless to his own passions, he inhaled a deep breath, slipped his hand past the waistband of his shorts and closed his fingers around his erection.

It felt solid in his hand and the skin all over his body tingled in response to the contact. Immediately images of Randy flooded his mind. Every inch of his body increased Dave's desire to the point that he wasn't sure what to focus on first. There was so much to choose from.

Deciding that his pouting lips would be a good place to start, Dave nimbly stroked his hand up his own length. The hard shaft throbbed against his palm as he finally reached the head. Vision of Randy moaning, licking those kissable lips danced willingly before him. The younger man's big hands explored the muscles in his torso, tracing the deep valley between his abs. Licking his lips, Dave felt his desire from head to toe; pounding in his temples and tightening all of his muscles. He wanted nothing more than for this fantasy to last forever - to see where�the�homoerotic heights of his inexperienced imagination could take him. And more than the excitement of what he was doing, was the realization that he never felt this way about being with a woman before.

Dave was more than capable of sustaining an erection to please his wife. There had even been a select few pinup girls that increased the blood flow to his nether regions. But no one, no fantasy, no prospect of sex, had ever made him feel what he was feeling at that very moment. He couldn't stop the smile on his face as he panted imagining Randy's tongue dance around his navel. He couldn't help looking down at himself in his hand imagining that he was looking down into Randy's blue eyes. And when the first audible moan escaped his lips, he knew that he couldn't stop. He didn't want to.

More of the ecstasy that his hand and images of Randy put him in were not to be, however. Dave never got the chance to stroke again because the pounding at the door made him jump completely out of bed.

Clutching the sheets around his waist, he limped painfully across the room to the door. Pulling it open, he was confronted with the object of his sudden bout of desire and lowered his eyes in embarrassment. Were his cheeks flushed? Could Randy tell what Dave had been doing in the room by himself?

Holding several bags of chips whilst shoving a half eaten chicken leg into his mouth, Randy Orton pushed past him into the room. Hardly the epitome of sex he had seemed to be moments ago.

Sheepishly, Dave crept back onto his bed feeling humiliated for ever allowing himself to imagine his roommate in such a sexual manner. With his back to Randy, he did his best to drown out the sound of his eating as his legs curled against his stomach.

His erection felt like steel, jabbing him in the stomach, but he dared not relieve it. If anything, David Batista took the frustrated feeling as a warning he must never let himself fall so far again. If he was going to succeed in this little plan he devised, it was imperative that he kept a cool head and not be tempted by Randy or his imagination of him.

But somehow Dave knew that when one was involved someone like Randy Orton, temptation might be the one thing one could never hope to master.

Lost in troubled thoughts, he finally fell into a dreamless sleep.


End file.
